


Dean and Deadpool's Adventures in Madness

by TwiceBakedPotato



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bromance, ChesterPool Verse, Crossover, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool has issues, Dean Has Issues, Demon Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Cares, Stabbing, Torture, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 47,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwiceBakedPotato/pseuds/TwiceBakedPotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a demon. Deadpool is crazy. Both have a knack for not dying and dealing out death with a blade. </p><p>After a chance encounter leaves Deadpool's Team-Up Senses tingling, Dean Winchester and the infamous Merc with a Mouth go hunting for Deadpool's nemesis, Vetis. Well, sort of. When they are not being sidetracked by biblical figures, younger brothers, and Dean's occasional bouts of explosive demonic rage that thoroughly test the limits of Deadpool's healing factor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a dream I had recently. This was supposed to be a one shot, but then I kept going. There is actually a plot in there somewhere. This is more in the Supernatural universe, but Deadpool blends in well because zombies, vampires, demons, and monsters. 
> 
> Also, the relationship between Dean and Deadpool is sort of based on violence and apologies. If I keep going, there will be true snuggly feels.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The sun was long gone by the time Dean decided it was time to find a place to sleep for the night. But considering he was covered in blood and gore from his most recent demon slaughter, he didn’t think it would be wise to go to a motel until he had a chance to clean up. 

Sometimes, he really missed his room at the Men of Letters bunker. Now, he could never go back there. There were so many devil’s traps and spellwork etched into every stairway, he would get trapped the moment he stepped through the door. Then, it would only be a matter of time before his brother tried to exorcise him. Again.

Poor Sam. It was bad enough seeing the kid bawl on Castiel’s shoulder, sobbing like Dean had never seen. But worse than his agony at Dean’s death was Sam’s horror when he realized that his big brother wasn’t dead. Wasn’t human anymore.

Dean had wanted Sam to shout at him, call him a freak, call him a monster. Say all the things that Dean had said to him back when he was on Ruby’s hook. Instead, Sam’s eyes filled with wretched tears as he started to recite the verse of Exorcism. He hadn’t even tried to trap Dean first, which Dean took as a sign he didn’t really have his heart in it. 

But damn it hurt. Physically, emotionally. All Dean wanted was to protect his brother. And now, he was everything he never wanted to be. 

Stretching out with his mind, Dean found an abandoned house not too far from his current position, and in a blink he was standing in a living room, surrounded by the remnants of somebody’s failed American Dream. The walls were unfinished, and on the front door hung a sign that said, “Forclosure.” There was no electricity, but still water in the faucet. 

Dean stripped and used the sprayer at the sink to hand wash the blood out of his clothes, but his main priority was the Blade. He meticulously cleaned the blood from between the teeth, polishing the ancient bone to a shine before bothering with his clothes. 

It was a cold night in the early spring, and the house would have felt cold to anyone whose blood wasn’t heated by the fire of Hell. Dean didn’t feel temperature anymore. Didn’t feel the sun or rain. Didn’t feel anything except for an unending, unquenchable hate that fueled his movements. 

A couple months after not-dying, Dean tried to call Sam. He dialed the number several times, only to hang up before it started ringing. Now, sitting naked in the dark on a tarp waiting for his clothes to dry, Dean wished he could talk to his brother. Just once. Just for a while. Even if the only thing that came out of his mouth was disappointment. 

Castiel was out of the question. Dean could not face the angel now, maybe never again. Cas had risked his life to pull Dean out of Hell. With his Grace, the angel put the former hunter’s body back together. Made him pure again, after being so destroyed by the evil he perpetrated on Alistair’s rack. How could he ever again look at the angel, despite Cas’ flaws, and not feel like he had let him down? 

A sudden burst of rage sent Dean’s fist through the sheetrock, letting out a bellow of agony that had nothing to do with his cracked knuckles.

“Keep it down!” 

Dean shot up to his feet, all of his senses tuned to hear the slightest sound. When he arrived, he was certain the place was empty, but then again, his Demon Senses weren’t always perfect. Most of the time, they were pretty lacking unless there was something pretty wicked involved.

There was a voice coming from the back room.

“Stupid people never know how to be quiet.”

Another voice added, “This is why we hate roommates.”

Followed by a third, “You picked the place, Yellow.”

With the First Blade in his hand, Dean started down the hallway, not making a sound. There was a squeak of mattress springs, and a man stood and stretched dramatically, going up to his tip toes. Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, Dean could see the guns on his hips and katanas on his back.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, his voice rough.

“I was sleeping,” the well-armed man answered, taking a step towards him. “Then some naked jackass decided to start smashing the place. I worked really hard to find this spot to squat. Respect my man zone, or I’ll have to evict you, Sir.”

Dean’s brow creased. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

The guy shrugged. “It’s been said, but that’s kind of a kettle-pot statement coming from a nude guy with a bone in his hand.”

“Nude dude with a boner!”

Dean tensed hearing the second voice. “How many is in there with you?”

“Just White and Yellow. And me. So far, no one else, but the night’s young.” The guy paused a moment, cocking his head to the side like a dog listening to a high pitched sound. “You can hear them?”

“Who are you?” Dean demanded, not answering the question.

“They call me Deadpool.”

The name struck a memory. “The Merc? With a Mouth?”

“You’ve heard of me!” Deadpool blurted, his voice full of childish excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Always great to meet a fan.”

His hand shot out to shake Dean’s hand, and Dean sliced the offered hand from Deadpool’s arm. The appendage flopped to the ground with a wet slap. Dean expected the swords to come out. Expected a fight. Hell, he wanted a fight.

Instead, Deadpool sighed like he was heavily put upon, picked up the hand and said, “This is what I get for sharing my home with naked weirdos.”

“This is your house?” Dean almost growled.

“Not really. Just where I’m laying low for a couple days.” He put the hand back on the end of his arm and let go. Much to Dean’s surprise, it didn’t fall off. Deadpool wiggled his fingers.

“We should kill him,” Yellow said with a growl.

Dean tensed. “Where is that coming from?”

Deadpool pointed to his head. “My brain. It’s kind of a mess up there.”

White piped up with his big, full voice, and said, “His brain isn’t much better if he’s hearing the voices in your head.”

“Yeah,” Deadpool said suspiciously. “How are you hearing the voices in my head?” 

“I can hear people’s thoughts sometimes,” Dean said, his body starting to relax. “It’s sort of a new thing.”

“That tight ass says he’s a mutant. Or our imagination.”

Dean was suddenly self-conscious about his nudity, and took a deep breath as he ran a hand back through his hair. “I think I need pants for this conversation.”

Deadpool shrugged. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.”


	2. Midnight Diner

Dean never liked wearing wet clothes. It was simply not enjoyable. At all. The denim pinched in places he'd rather it not, and it made his skin feel clammy. While these physical sensations were greatly diminished, it didn't change the fact that Dean didn't like it.

What he liked even less was sitting in a diner in the middle of the night across from Deadpool, who was currently drawing a smiley face on his pancakes with syrup. Originally, Dean figured he would get dressed and spirit himself to a different location, completely losing the deranged mercenary. What he didn't count on was Deadpool being able to teleport to keep up with him.

This went on for longer than Dean wanted, to the point that he felt a headache coming on. It was clear that Deadpool wasn't going to go away easily. Something about him reminded Dean of a lost puppy.

So Dean drank his too hot coffee and watched Deadpool play with his food, resigned to keep in the masked man's company until it was convenient to depart.

The diner was like most diners he ate at during his travels across the country. The only problem was his eating companion wasn't Sam. He didn't know anything about Deadpool, except the few things he'd heard here and there about the merc. How he took out a nest of daywalking vampires with a modified X-ray machine, and how he took out a whole town of zombies somewhere in Eastern Europe. He was sort of a legend within the Hunter community, but it was well known he didn't lift a finger without getting paid.

"What are you doing here?" Dean finally asked, annoyed at the silence.

Deadpool shrugged. "Laying low. Taking a break from the life, ya know."

"He faked his death. Again," the voice Dean was recognizing now as Yellow Box said.

Ignoring the disembodied voices, Dean laced his fingers around his coffee cup and said, "If you are trying to lay low, what's with the outfit? I mean, doesn't head to toe spandex get a little attention?"

"Hell yes, it gets attention. It makes my ass look fabulous," Deadpool answered, waggling his eyebrows behind his mask.

Dean had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. He cleared his throat. "Seriously, though. People will see you and remember the guy in the red and black suit with the weird white eyes. Why not take the get-up off, and just be whoever you are?"

"Because we look like the lovechild of Ryan Reynolds and a Shar Pei," Yellow answered.

"More like ground up taco meat," White corrected.

Dean's brow scrunched, his eyes looking for something to glare at. "Those guys are kinda douche bags."

"But they have really good ideas sometimes," Deadpool said as he started slicing his pancakes. Never taking his eyes off his plate, he asked, "What about you? What brings you to this nick'o the woods? And what's with that bone you're carrying around?"

None of your damn business, was what Dean wanted to say. Instead, he said, "Taking care of a pest problem."

Deadpool put aside his silverware and leaned back in the booth. "Look, guy. I know who you are. You're the Winchester. You're the Dean. The Hunteri Heroici. Mr. Resurrection Supremo. You travel with your brother and an angel. If you were any more famous, you'd be me." He paused to flex his muscular arms, and said, "So cut the bullshit. Why are you here?"

"Taking out a group of demons," he answered, a slight blush creeping into his face. It was the first time someone had ever recognized him. Unlike Deadpool, he didn't fawn and giggle, though he sort of wanted to. He took a sip of coffee. "They were the King of Hell's entourage. Thought I'd get the King too, but the smarmy dick managed to vamos before I could get to him."

"Crowley's a cunt," Deadpool said with a nod.

Dean had to focus to not spit coffee. "You know about Crowley?"

"I've probably spent more time dead than you, Chester," Deadpool said with a smirk. "Death and me, we're sort of on a first name basis." Returning his attention to his pancakes, which were getting cut into ever smaller pieces, he asked, "So when did you learn the ol' vanishing trick? Not many people can teleport like that."

"That's a very long story," Dean said, his hand going down under the table to touch the First Blade. It was a habit he had now, like a security blanket that could kill everything in creation.

"Must be a tale of great woe," White said.

Yellow sounded bored. "Everything is a long story. Give the damned highlights!"

Deadpool just looked at him expectantly.

"Uh…" Dean scrunched his brow, still a little off put by the voices. He shrugged. "Took the Mark of Cain to kill a bitch named Abbadon, and kind of turned into a demon."

"Nice," was all Deadpool said in response, his head bobbing in slow appreciation.

The waitress came by at that moment with more coffee. She was young and pretty, and everything that Dean would love to flirt the pants off of, at least if he was still interested in anything outside of killing demons. She had beautiful brown eyes, long legs, and just the right amount of clevage.

She gave Deadpool a curious look, and asked, "Your pancakes alright...uh...sir?"

He nodded. "They're perfect, baby. My compliments to the chef!"

"Just let me know if you need anything," she said with a genuine smile.

After she walked away, Dean turned his attention back to the merc. "Why did you order pancakes if you're not going to eat them?"

"I'm going to eat them," he answered defensively. "Just waiting."

"For what?"

Deadpool gestured out the window, and said, "That."

Dean turned in his seat to see a group of seven demons standing in the parking lot. He hadn't noticed them with his Demon Senses, probably because he was too wrapped up with the Merc to notice. But now, he studied their true faces, and the Mark on his arm began to itch. They were high ranking demons, creatures that were out to impress their new King.

Turning back to Deadpool, a smirk on his face, Dean said, "This should be interesting."

"Interesting," Deadpool parroted, nodding. "Sure. As long as you mean bloody. Cuz that's where this is going, pretty boy."

Dean laughed. "Pretty boy?"

Deadpool put on his most seductive look. "You do have very delicate features. Nice symmetry. Pretty to look at."

"I'm really not into dudes," Dean said as gently as he could, reaching for his blade.

"That is just too bad," Deadpool said with an obvious grin. "I would have rocked your world, Chester."

Dean was about to stand up and say something snarky. He was damn good at snark, but he was rendered speechless when Deadpool went poof! and appeared again outside in the middle of the group of demons, a sword in each hand.

The Hellspeak came through the barrier of glass, as in unison the Seven shouted, "Vetis sends his regards!"

Dean barely had enough time to wonder who the hell Vetis is, before Deadpool whirled into action. With a few swift motions that could barely be seen by the naked eye, the demons were shredded, their black souls burning out in their human hosts with a flicker of hellfire. Only one remained by the time Dean got outside.

The demon opened it's mouth to smoke out of it's doomed meatsuit, but Dean stopped it with a wave of his hand.

"Betrayer!" it shouted at Dean. "You are the Knight of Hell! Bearer of the blade! Save me!"

"She-demon thinks Pretty Boy is on her side," White said with derision.

"I'm not on their side!" Dean shouted, his eyes going black just to confuse the White Box.

Deadpool nodded once, and crossed his swords against the demon's neck. With a voice too jaunty for the moment, the Merc said, "Tell Vetis he can kiss my rosy red ass, okay douche face?" Then, as if Dean needed another surprise, Deadpool started to recite the exorcism, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

Dean winced, and teleported to a safe distance, shaking his head to rid himself of the sensation of someone trying to pull him out of his body. Not exactly the way he anticipated his night going, though there was nothing about this night that was typical. In fact, as he stood, looking back at the diner, watching Deadpool calmly eat his pancakes, he wished he could just go back to the booth and finish his coffee and conversation with the merc.

But the guy knew that Dean was a Demon. Dean told him very plainly that was the case. And it was obvious that Deadpool had some history with demons that wasn't too pleasant. Vetis…

With a sigh, Dean started walking, suddenly feeling very lonely.


	3. Hurricane on a Leash

Three days later, after stealing a car and driving a couple states away to O'Donnell, Texas, Dean decided he was far enough away from everything and everyone to find a real motel with a real bed, and hopefully have a few hours of sleep. He'd taken time only to stop for gas and bad convenience store coffee. His eyes were grainy and his body felt heavy.

While he didn't really require sleep and could push his physical body far beyond normal limits, Dean didn't want to wear out his meatsuit. It was hisbody, not someone he was possessing. And the idea of possessing someone else felt like a line in the sand, beyond which lay complete damnation.

Dean checked into room 4, and flopped face first onto the mattress. It didn't take long for him to fall into a deep sleep full of nightmares. There was fire and darkness. And screaming. So much screaming. It was deafening and desperate, and endless. Then there was Alistair, leaning over Dean's shoulder, his hot breath against Dean's neck, urging him to cut open another soul.

"Chester?"

The razor was in his hand, blackened with blood and the edge ragged by rust. It felt like an extension of his body, too comfortable in his palm.

"Wake up, Chester!"

Terrified eyes were the only discernable feature of the body that lay before him. Skin lay in sloppy piles at Dean's feet. Muscle was ripped away to bone. Soon, every scrap of flesh would be gone, and then Time would reset, and this soul would be whole again, ready for the next torment.

Keep going, boy,Alistair whispered.

"Dean Winchester!" followed by a hard slap across the face jarred Dean awake. He snapped to attention, the First Blade at Deadpool's throat. The Merc didn't flinch.

"What the fuck?" Dean shouted, flipping the blade for a better grip.

"I came to apologize," Deadpool said, slowly raising his hands in a show of innocence. "I thought I exorcised you. And I like you Chester. I thought we had a nice rapport."

Dean's face screwed up in a look of absolute confusion before shaking his head free of the remnants of his dream (nightmare?) and flopping back on the mattress, flinging an arm over his eyes. "How the fuck did you find me?"

"You underestimate my abilities, good sir," Deadpool said in his best Narrator voice. "Don't get me wrong, it was a challenge for about 5 minutes, but after I hacked into the CCTV system, it was a piece of cake."

Dean uncovered his eyes. "Why are you following me?"

Your perky nipples, Yellow said, just as White said, Boredom.

Deadpool just shrugged. "I feel like we are kindred spirits, Chester. Two bad ass slaying machines, cut from the same bolt of cloth. And!" He held up a finger, cutting off Dean's retort, quickly adding, "I think we should team up."

For a moment, Dean was rendered speechless. Of all the strange things that could have come out of this room invasion, a partnership was the last thing he imagined the merc suggesting. Especially in light of their last encounter.

"I'm a demon," Dean finally said. "You kill demons."

"I'm aware. And so do you," Deadpool said flatly. "I do have standards, you know. I'm not just killing every demon I meet."

Dean mumbled, "That makes one of us…"

"Also, you're not a douchebag," Deadpool added with a shrug. "You look like you need help. And with your obvious lack of giant brother and friend angel, you could probably use someone to watch your back."

Dean laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You don't know me, dude."

"I know you Better than you think."

"I don't know you," Dean snapped. "We're not friends. We're not going to be a team, Deadpool. And that's another thing..." Dean waved in Deadpool's general direction. "You are some dude in a costume. I don't even know your real name."

"Wade," Deadpool answered, sitting up straighter. "Wade Wilson."

They both fell into silence, staring at each other. Dean wasn't sure what to make of this. Of anything. Deadpool was right in one regard: Dean missed having someone to watch his back. But trusting a mercenary, especially one who heard voices in his head, didn't seem to be the best basis for a team.

The silence went on a little too long, and Deadpool started drifting a little, staring at the Winchester. The merc remembered the black eyes very well, but he still didn't see the guy in front of him as evil. His entire life-even before Weapon X-Wade Wilson had been labeled as the bad guy, even when all he was doing was clearing out the bad guys. There were moments when he had got it backwards, but he always made it right, even with everyone calling him insane and dangerous.

But we are insane and dangerous, White said.

Yellow quickly snarked, Yeah, if by insane and dangerous, you mean badass and sexy.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the need to drink large quantities of alcohol. He opened his mouth to say something, probably another rejection of the merc's offer, but his mouth shut again. He studied Deadpool's-Wade's-masked face, the way he held himself. He'd seen the guy in action, a perfect fighter. Graceful. Fast. No hesitation.

Not to mention he was well equipped for killing demons. His swords had the same effect as Ruby's knife, with a much farther reach. Dean wanted to know more about his weapons, and how the merc came to learn an exorcism.

"Okay," Dean finally said.

Deadpool quirked his head to the side. "...Okay?"

"We'll team up." Dean held up his hands to stop Deadpool from bouncing, and added, "But! We're gonna get a few things straight first, okay? Like, number one, who is Vetis?"

"Vetis is a soul-stealing douchebag I worked with for a while," Deadpool answered. "I thought he was dead. Thought I killed him. But then, things went sort of crazy a few years back. Demons were everywhere all of a sudden, and I ran into the bastard. Tried to claim my soul, but Death stopped him."

Dean had to fight any interjections. He'd met Death. Death didn't make special exceptions for people in regards to demon deals. At least, not that he knew of. Death was a capricious asshole.

"Now, he's sending every demon in Hell after me," Deadpool finished.

"That why you faked your death?"

Deadpool laughed. "Nah." He didn't elaborate.

"So…" Dean stood up and started pacing at the end of the bed. "We should go after Vetis. I could summon him. I have the mojo to kill him for good."

"Confident. I like that." Deadpool was grinning behind the mask, even as he said, "But that won't work. Vetis isn't Crowley. Crowley might be the King of Hell, but he's king of the low level idiots. Vetis used to be Crowley's boss. And the Bosses don't get summoned."

This was news to Dean. For the nth time, Dean wished he could just call Castiel. Find out what the angel knows about Vetis. Alistair was a higher level demon. So was Azazel. And Lillith. It took a lot of mojo to take them out. Took the Colt. Took selling Dean's soul. Took Sam's blood addiction.

But now, Dean was theKnight of Hell. There were no others. Abaddon was dead, and according to the lore, the biggest and baddest of the pit were the Knights. In other words, Dean was the top dog. He was the one with the mojo to take the thorn out of Deadpool's side. They just need to find Vetis, and the First Blade would do the rest.

He looks so serious when his eyes are black,Yellow said, amused.

He always looks serious, dumbass, White snobbed.

"Leave the Chester alone, he's going to work with us. We need to behave ourselves."That disembodied voice was without a doubt, Wade.

Dean shook his head, his eyes coming back to humanity. Deadpool was still sitting, though his legs were bouncing restlessly, as if he was about to burst into action, like a puppy at the end of a leash staring at a squirrel. The idea of Deadpool completely unleashed was almost like imagining a hurricane: big, deadly, and uncontrollable. Not a good idea.

Trying to keep a tight grip on that invisible leash, Dean said, "We're going to do this my way, okay?"

"No problem!" Deadpool said as he jumped up to his feet and clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder, shaking him as he bounced, and with that odd Narrorator voice, said, "Team ChesterPool, off to conquer the foes and forces of Hell for the Good of Humanity! Suck it, world!"

Dean couldn't help the smile as he slowly shook his head. This was going to be interesting.


	4. A Horse With No Name

There were some unexpected perks that came along with an association with Deadpool. Most significant was the fact that the crazy bastard had more money than he knew what to do with and spent it in the strangest ways possible. Like buying a junker car and filling the trunk with 200 boxes of Twinkies and twenty boxes of expensive booze. No room in the trunk for weapons.

Deadpool did not part with his weapons. Ever.

The normal rule was to keep any potential attention grabbing items stowed away. But when Dean suggested that Deadpool store his blades and guns, the merc just patted him on the head and called him "adorable".

Now, they were in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in New Mexico, and the junker-a newer model Impala that made Dean's skin crawl just to sit in-was starting to overheat. There was a sputtering sound, then a puff of white smoke billowed out from under the hood.

"This would never happen with Baby," Dean growled as he took the key out of the ignition.

Deadpool shrugged. "Nothing happens by accident, Chester. This is the Universe telling us to take a stroll."

The mercenary got out of the car, already singing "A Horse With No Name" when he shut the door. Dean got out, watching as Deadpool opened the trunk and pulled out a box of Twinkies and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.

Dean did his best to suppress the annoyance, as he asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting supplies for our little jaunt," Deadpool answered, like it was completely obvious. Deadpool lifted the bottom of his mask, revealing his scarred and puckered chin as he stuffed a whole Twinkie in his mouth. The chin was the only part the mercenary ever uncovered. He washed it down with a long pull of whiskey, then stuck the rest of the twinkies in one of the many pouches on his belt.

"We're hell and gone from anywhere," Dean almost shouted. "We have no water. It's hot as fuck. We're not walking anywhere."

An Hour Later...

"After three days in the desert sun, my skin began to turn red," Deadpool's off key voice sang as they topped a small hill overlooking a vast valley of nothing and yet more nothing. He was on his 10th or 100th round of the song, and Dean was ready to smash the merc's head with a rock. "And the story it told of a river that flowed, made me sad to think it was dead... I've been through the desert on a horse with no name…"

Dean's mouth was getting dry, but not as dry as it should be. He knew, deep down, that death by dehydration wasn't possible. His Demon Soul would keep his body going, though he wondered if this could be the end of his meatsuit. He was drinking too much whiskey and Deadpool was leaving a trail of Twinkie wrappers that would make Sam's eye twitch.

Idly, Dean wondered what Sam would make of the merc. Without a doubt he would be fascinated by Deadpool's swords, with the exotic symbols etched into the blades. Dean got a close look at them one evening while the merc was cleaning his weapons. Some of the symbols were similar to the one's on Ruby's knife, but others were obviously Enochian. Others, Dean had no clue. He thought about asking, but decided it might be too personal. Hunters were often cagey with the secrets of their weapons.

Other than the weapons, Sam would probably want to sit down with Deadpool and try to puzzle out the meaning behind the voices. Sam was the type to care about someone's mental health state. Sam liked to fix people. Sam cared.

Dean, on the other hand, wanted to punch Deadpool as the merc blissfully sang his way across the desert, and with the voices in his head providing the soundtrack, it was like listening to a one-man karaoke machine. Dean hated karaoke.

"...And a perfect disguise above. Under the cities lies a heart made of ground, But the humans will give no love."

"Shut up!" Dean finally shouted.

Deadpool froze, a Twinkie en route to his mouth. His mouth twisted as a scarred lip pooched out, like a chastised toddler.

White said, "You are being excessively annoying."

"Chester just doesn't appreciate excellent music," Yellow defended. "Keep singing!"

"Dean is our friend. We don't want to piss him off!" White snapped back.

Dean jammed a finger in Deadpool's chest, and said, "Get this straight, you frikken psychopath. We're not friends. We're working together. That's. It. Once this Vetis fucker is dealt with, you go your way. I'll go mine. Capisce?"

Deadpool and the voices in his head was silent. He just pulled his mask back over his chin, and continued walking. But his gait was stiff and sluggish, nothing like the way he was practically dancing along before.

Now with only the deafening silence of the breathless desert, Dean almost wanted the song to continue.

But before he could tamp down his pride and muster up the give-a-damn to apologize, he felt a tingling in the back of his skull. It was sort of like when he was near demons, but different. Then he heard an engine, and turned around to see an old truck rumbling their direction.

"Deadpool!" Dean gruffed, getting the merc's attention. "We've got company."

The merc spun on his heels, white eyes narrowing to study the truck as it slowed and came to a stop beside them. The man in the truck didn't smell like a demon, didn't look menacing except for the way he scowled at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. His eyes darted to Deadpool for only a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching beneath his beard.

Dean looked like he'd seen a ghost, his voice haunted and eyes wide as he said, "Cain?"

The two Knights of Hell stared at each other, their faces stoney reflections of the other.

Deadpool slapped his hand on the hood of the truck, causing both men to look at him as he said, "How about a ride?"

Cain lived in a small adobe house just a couple miles down the road from where the truck stopped. Dean opted to ride in the truck bed, not wanting to be enclosed in a tiny space with the Father of Murder, whom made him promise to kill him someday. This encounter was...unnerving. Unwanted. The Mark did not itch like it did when there were demons around, when he was needing to kill. He didn't want to kill Cain.

Thus, Deadpool was in the cab of the truck, and when they came to a stop in front of the small house, Dean didn't know what to think when Cain hopped out of the truck laughing like he just heard the funniest joke in creation. Deadpool's usual mirth seemed back in place as he finished whatever story with, "...and that's how my first marriage sorta went nuts."

"You are a character, Mr. Wilson," Cain said, wiping a tear from his cheek. With a nod of his head in Dean's direction, he asked, "What are you doing with him?"

"Chester's helping me take care of a demon problem," Deadpool answered, the humor suddenly vacant from his voice. Dean didn't like the tone or the cold look in his eyes as he added, "We're not friends. Just working together."

"I imagine Mr. Winchester has very few friends now," Cain said, his eyes just as cold as the merc's. "Please, come inside, gentlemen. I'm sure we have a lot to discuss."


	5. The First Knight

Having dinner in the house of a man famous as the Father of Murder would probably be intimidating for anyone on Planet Earth-unless you count Wade Wilson. The merc sat to the right of Cain, his mask pulled up to his nose as he feasted, his mouth only seeming to close to swallow or take a drink. Countless times, Dean thought about telling him to shut up (again), but considering that Cain kept asking the man questions and laughing at his stories, it seemed horribly rude. And if there was one thing Cain didn't like, it was rude behavior.

So Dean politely poked at his food, spending most of the meal just nodding as if he was paying attention, and wondering when the ball would drop. What would Deadpool do when Cain asked for death? The two seemed to becoming friends.

"What do you think, Dean?"

Dean shook his head, realizing that Cain was addressing him. He hadn't been paying attention. At all, too wrapped up in his own misery. He searched the man's face, trying to remember the slightest thing from the conversation at the other end of the table.

"Dean's not much for conversation," Deadpool said as he popped a piece of cheese into his mouth.

Cain nodded sagely. "You are certainly a special case, Mr. Winchester."

Dean tried to keep his tone neutral as he said, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Behold the butthurt of the Chester in his not-native environment," Yellow said in a mock whisper.

"Excuse me?" Dean growled at Deadpool. "You think you're fuckin' funny?"

Cain glared Dean down, and said, "You watch your language at my table, boy."

"Yeah!" Yellow bellowed. "Watch your fuckin' language!"

White warned, "Don't be an antagonist. Not until we decide whether or not we should kill him."

Dean stood up. Pointing at Deadpool, he said, "You think that is okay?"

Cain's brow furrowed. He looked at the merc, his eyes going back to Dean. "I see nothing wrong with Mr. Wilson. He's not the one making an ass of himself."

"It's Yellow and White," Deadpool said, slowly pulling his mask back down. Dean was starting to realize he did that when he felt awkward, or defensive. His voice was subdued, like it had been along the road. "They are the boxes in my head. They don't like Dean much right now."

"Then me and the boxes have something in common, Wade," Cain said as he stood. He placed a hand on Deadpool's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. Fatherly, almost. Then he gestured to the door with a nod of his head, and said, "Come with me Dean. We need to talk, Knight to Knight."

Dean swallowed hard, and suddenly felt like he was being taken to the principal's office. He walked out the door first, his hand surreptitiously touching the First Blade. Consciously, he knew that Cain couldn't hurt him. Not without the Mark. Not now.

The view out the backdoor was beautiful at sunset. The desert was painted in red and gold, the sky turning purple in the fading light. A group of deer were slowly grazing on the dried vegetation not even 50 feet away from the stone porch. In the distance, a chorus of coyotes began to howl. Dean noticed with a twitch of a smile, that there were six bee boxes near Cain's small pepper garden.

"Let it never be said, Dean, that you keep anything less than interesting company," Cain said after a minute or two of silence. He stared off towards the horizon, stroking his beard. "Why do people call him 'Deadpool'?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know, really. Just what he calls himself, I guess."

Cain turned to him. "And what do you call yourself, Dean?"

His brow furrowed. "I, uh…"

"That cologne you wear doesn't quite hide the scent of sulfur." Cain leaned forward, giving a quick sniff, before adding, "And those green eyes don't exactly hide the blackness."

Dean almost shouted, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cain huffed a laugh. "Tell you what? The whole damn story? Could it be because you invaded my home? Blew my cover? Brought a horde of demons to my sanctuary?"

With a roll of his eyes, Dean said, "I know. But...You said a 'great burden'. You could have just as easily said, 'this is going to turn you into a demon', and I would have gotten the idea."

There was a small, leather-bound book laying on the porch railing, a pen clipped to the cover. Cain picked it up and handed it to Dean. It was filled with Cain's elegant handwriting, pages and pages of notes and sketches.

Dean looked at him, a question on his lips.

"Consider it a manual," Cain said softly. "I've been writing it since I came down here because I knew someday I would see you again."

Dean closed the book, his eyes never leaving the cover as he said, "You said you would call me so that I could kill you."

"Yes. That's what I said." Cain smiled, but it was a sad expression on his face. "That is not why you are here. This encounter, against all odds, is a coincidence. A fortunate coincidence, considering you're hunting Vetis."

"When did…?" Dean started.

Cain answered, "When you were brooding over your peas, Wade and I discussed your planned hunt. Which, might I say, is a very ambitious project, considering Vetis is almost as powerful as Lucifer."

Dean didn't even try to hide the surprise in his voice. "How is that even possible?"

"Did you ever read the Bible?" Cain said blandly. "There were many angels that fell with Lucifer. That arrogant ass is the only one mentioned by name. He was an archangel, so naturally he was their leader."

"But he was defeated, put in the Cage?"

"That's right." Cain's voice had the tone one might use with a stubborn child. "But the other fallen angels were cast down to Hell with him. Not caged, but not exactly free either. It was the angels that made Hell the jolly place it is today. They trained the first demons in the art of torture, found ways around the body permissions that Angels require for possession. Vetis is one of them, and there are a helluvalot more than just Vetis to contend with."

"Will the First Blade kill a fallen angel?" Dean asked, hopeful.

Cain shrugged. "Don't know, really. Never tried. I may be the Father of Murder, but I've never been to Hell. I will, eventually. But not yet." He paused a moment, looking out over the darkening hills.

After the silence became almost unbearable, Dean asked, "How will I know if you are calling?"

He tapped the cover of the book, and said, "When I call you, you'll know it. You'll feel it like an uncontrollable urge to go. And you will be pulled through the Cosmos to wherever I am."

Leaning close, his voice soft, he added, "Do not forget yourself, Dean. The reason I gave you the Mark was two fold. First, yeah, I could see you were a killer. But also, I could see something in you that was incorruptible. I hope you hold on to that."

Then he gave Dean a slap on the back, and said, "Come back inside. Your body needs rest."

The table was cleared when they reentered the house, and Deadpool was at the sink washing dishes, whistling the tune to "Little Boxes" as he swished suds across the frying pan. His gloves were tucked neatly in his weapon belt and the sleeves of his costume were rolled up to his elbows, revealing skin that was covered in scars and burns.

Cain grabbed a coffee cup from the rack near the sink, offering a soft, "Thank you, Wade," as he poured himself a cup from the metal pot on the stove. Deadpool didn't pause in his whistling or scrubbing, but seemed to relax his posture a little.

"We should do more nice things for bearded men," Yellow said almost wistfully.

"Stop crushing on biblical figures. It's not professional," White said.

"We're not only nice to the people we want to have sex with," Yellow said defensively.

White was obviously not in agreement, saying, "Name one person…"

"That old lady in New York," Deadpool exclaimed out loud, causing Cain to look at him strangely.

Dean's brow scrunched. "Don't you hear them?"

Cain shrugged. "No, I'm sorry. I guess I don't." He gently touched Deadpools elbow, getting his attention. "What are you hearing, son?"

"The coyotes, your radio in the other room, the wind in the willows…"

Patiently, Cain asked, "In your mind, Wade."

Dean sat at the table, watching Deadpool struggle with putting things into words. He could talk for hours about weapons, missions, places he's been, but when it came to the subject of the Boxes, he seemed at a loss for the right way to put it.

"The story, I guess," he answered with a shrug. He put the last dish in the drainer, and unplugged the sink, carefully swishing away all the suds. "They keep me on track. At least White tries to. Sometimes they just point things out that I'm missing. Or things I forgot about from a previous issue."

Cain's brow furrowed. "Issue?"

"Yeah. This is just a story. A comic book, actually." The merc hopped up on the newly cleaned counter, his feet bouncing against the cabinet, his white eyes averted. "This is all a story, and I'm the star. You guys are incidental characters, I imagine. No one ever sticks around in my story. Not for long, at least. Maybe one plot arch. Sometimes making later cameos. But you'll both be gone eventually."

"That sounds awful lonely," Cain said, leaning against the counter beside the merc.

Deadpool shrugged, and answered with forced humor, "Lonely schmonely. There's always another issue." Then he jumped off the counter and struck a pose, and in his Narrator voice, said, "Deadpool, the Merc With A Mouth, a never ending saga!"

Cain and Dean watched him walk out of the kitchen, through the living room towards the front door. After hearing the door close, Cain turned to Dean, and said, "That man is a very special person. Do yourself a favor, and do not push Wade away. I have the feeling you could learn a lot from him, if you would pay attention."

"Learn what? How to be a functional psychopath?" Dean said, his words more sad than insulting.

Cain didn't say anything else. He finished off his cold coffee, rinsed the cup, and walked towards the bedroom, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. More and more, alone with his thoughts was the last place Dean wanted to be, and it wasn't long before he found himself walking out the front door where Deadpool was sitting on the edge of the porch, cleaning his guns as he did religiously every evening before he slept.

After a few minutes of summoning up the nerve, Dean muttered, "I'm sorry, Dea-Wade."

Deadpool paused briefly, then continued what he was doing. "Why?"

"For being a dick," Dean pushed out. "I am a dick pretty much all the time. I've gotten a lot worse about it since I, ya know…"

"Turned into a demon," Deadpool finished.

"Yeah." Dean nodded and jumped down to sit beside the mercenary. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at the ground. "I lost my family and my only friend to this. And I've never been good with people. So, I hope you understand that I'm trying."

"Did you know that there are certain species of cacti that will die if you ever water them? And certain fish, they can't live unless they are at the bottom of the ocean under a lot of pressure. They just explode! " Deadpool sounded almost like a kid telling about his day, except for the deep tone of his voice.

All Dean could manage was, "Huh?"

"You are a prick who needs to be under pressure or you can't function and explode," White explained.

Dean laughed and shook his head.

"He thinks we're funny!" Yellow gushed with floating hearts.

The next morning, the junk Impala was in the driveway and a couple boxes of Twinkies on Cain's table. There was very little said, other than a grunted "Thank you" from Dean and a stern, "Leave me alone" from Cain as they got ready to leave in the cold pre-dawn.

Cain walked over to the passenger's side where Deadpool was sitting, fiddling with his PSP. Cain said, "It was nice to meet you, Wade."

Thinking back, the Merc couldn't remember anyone ever saying that to him. Maybe cursing the day he was born, but never nice-anything. For a moment he was speechless. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of business cards, each emblazoned with the Deadpool logo. He held one out to Cain, and said, "I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, call me maybe?"

Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as the Father of Murder took the mercenary's card, and chuckled. "I might do that." Then looked at Dean, all humor gone. "I don't want to see you again unless I summon."

"Yes, Sir," Dean said. He put the car in drive and they left Cain's patch of land with Deadpool waving a handkerchief out the window and blowing kisses.


	6. It's What We Do

"Do we really have to stop here, Wade?" Dean didn't even try to hide the whine in his voice as he slowed the car beside the sign for the Little Ale Inn just outside Roswell. He saw the cheesy alien face in the window, and groaned as he looked at Deadpool.

The mercenary leaned back in the seat, fixing him with a curious look. "It's a landmark, buddy."

"It's a tourist trap," Dean grumbled.

"That's right. And we are tourists." Deadpool patted Dean's leg, then got out of the car, striding towards the door of the alien-themed diner.

Dean sighed heavily, and got out of the car. He could smell the scent of bacon and char-broiled meat, and his mouth watered. His body was starving for something greasy and unhealthy, and he decided he might as well cave to the desire since Wade was already at the counter ordering.

The place was more horrifying on the inside than Dean thought it would be. Nothing but knickknack alien statues, little stuffed green men, and fuzzy pictures of UFO's. After being abducted in Elwood, Indiana, by the fairies, Dean didn't find much desire to be anywhere near a place famous for UFOs. It was unsettling.

After ordering a cheeseburger, he followed Wade to a table by the window, where he had a nice view of absolutely nothing of importance. He noticed that the mercenary had a small pendent in the shape of a UFO attached to the strap that held his swords in place. Even through the mask, Dean could tell that he was smiling.

"Over priced food, and Made in China trinkets," Dean grumbled as he sipped his soda. "God bless America."

"You gotta learn to enjoy the small things, Chester," Deadpool said as he slouched, draping his arm across the back of the seat. "Didn't you ever do this stuff as a kid when you were traveling around with your dad?"

Dean wanted to laugh at the thought of John Winchester making whimsical trips to places like Roswell. He shook his head, and did his best not to sound too bitter as he said, "Nah. My dad was all about the job. We didn't do the family vacation thing, unless you count hunting Werewolves a vacation."

"Not really." The merc pulled his mask up to his nose and took a drink of his soda.

The waitress came by with their food, and once again Dean was astonished by how much food Deadpool consumed. The merc had three double cheeseburgers, an order of onion rings and fries, and a chicken finger basket. Dean had ordered a bacon burger and slice of cherry pie, and wasn't sure if he could even finish that. As he watched Deadpool wolf down his food, he suddenly wished he had an appetite again. Anymore, food was just something he did to maintain his meatsuit, and not because he really enjoyed it.

Dean couldn't hold back from asking, "How can you eat so much?"

"Regeneration, baby," he answered around a mouthful of French fries. "Takes a lot out of me. If I don't have enough on storage, it takes a long time for me to heal." He took a long drink, and belched before adding, "Healing factors are awesome, but you gotta maintain it."

There were times after Castiel had healed his injuries that Dean was completely famished, and he wondered if maybe that was the reason. It wasn't too far fetched, really.

Two more bites, though, and Dean was at his limit. He never even touched the pie, which made him feel sort of sick inside. Pie was his favorite thing. It was a comfort food. But now, comfort wasn't something he really sought, or even felt he deserved. He slid the pie away.

"You gonna eat that?" Deadpool asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nah." Dean pushed it his direction, and said, "I was thinking we need to figure out a plan before we drive any further."

Deadpool shoveled a fork full of flaky, gooey cherry pie into his mouth, and nodded. "Plan. Plans are good."

"Vetis isn't going to be an easy target," Dean started. "And the fact is, I still don't know the full extent of what I'm capable of. Killing demons is something that came kinda natural for me, ya know? Been doing it forever. But there's stuff in Cain's book that I didn't know about. So, I figure we could travel around for a while so I can get a little practice before we go after the big bad."

"Always good to level up before going into a boss battle," Deadpool said as he scooped up more pie. "I've been there, my friend. Waking up something new, not knowing what you're capable of. But at least I had White and Yellow. Kind of gave me direction. Bad directions for a while, but every partnership is rocky in the beginning."

"I've noticed they're being really quiet today," Dean noted.

Deadpool shrugged, but said nothing else on the subject. "So we're going hunting then?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I think that would be a good idea."

"Hunting evil with Dean Winchester," Deadpool said, a cheesy grin on his face. "This is like Dancing With The Stars, only with more bullets." He reached into one of the pouches on his belt, and pulled out a tablet and cell phone, and for a moment Dean was reminded of Sam. Sam was always the one doing the research, always with his nose in his laptop or calling up friends in the Hunter Network to find a case.

Suddenly, Dean started to hate looking at Deadpool. Hated the way he reminded him of Sam, even in the most minute of ways. He wanted to be alone and never have to see anything that came close to his old life. So many times he had complained about his brother, and now Sam was gone, most likely forever.

"I'm gonna go use the can," Dean said, needing to get away from the mercenary. He stomped to the bathroom and shut the door.

The bathroom was cramped, not big enough to pace, and definitely not soundproofed enough for him to scream his lungs out like he wanted to. Dean wanted to punch and thrash and kick, and suddenly the First Blade was practically vibrating at his side, the Mark itching like a red hot rash.

The fury kept building and building until the mirror above the sink started to shake. Then his eyes settled on his reflection, distorted by tremors and warped by the black eyes of a damned soul.

Then Deadpool was there behind him, and Dean only had a moment to react before the mercenary grabbed his shoulder, and the world shifted to a place far from the diner, out in the middle of the desert.

Dean spun around, the First Blade in his hand, eyes black and smouldering with hate as he lunged at the merc. But Deadpool was fast. He wasn't some chump demon. He was lightning in the form of muscle and bone, and his blades were an extension of that raw power. It took no effort to block each swipe.

Deadpool shoved Dean back, a wicked grin under the mask "The hate is strong with you, young jedi."

"Fuck you," Dean spat, raising a hand and throwing Deadpool back with a telekenetic shove.

The merc landed several feet back, rolling gracefully back to his feet, not pausing a moment before diving at the hunter, his katanas cutting through the air fast enough to break the sound barrier, leaving a thin line of red on Dean's throat. It wasn't a fatal stroke; it was a reminder that Deadpool was the stronger fighter.

"I'm going to rip your fucking head off with my bare hands!" Dean growled.

Deadpool laughed. "Stop saying you're going to hit me, and fuckin' hit me, Chester."

Dean bared his teeth, his insides burning with rage and suddenly all he could see was red fire. He reached out with his fury, wrapping Deadpool in his grip. The mercenary let out a strangled sound as his torso split open and his legs warped with a loud crunch. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and blood splattered across the bone dry ground.

For a moment, Dean stood over the body of the mercenary, his breath ragged and hissing through his teeth, the red fading with each pounding heartbeat. And when his head was cleared and he could see what he had done, the rage that had turned his face red evaporated as he blanched and fell to the ground.

"Oh fuck," he gasped as tears stung his eyes. Dean reached towards the eviscerated body, fingers sliding over blood-soaked covering Deadpool's neck in the vain hope that there would be a pulse. "Jesus, Wade. Fuck. What have I…"

"Are you going to scream at the sky now?" came Wade's voice, gurgling through the blood in his mouth.

Dean watched, eyes wide and unblinking as the merc pulled his body back together, stuffing one exposed lung back into his chest cavity, then giving Dean a pleading look as he said, "Would you mind grabbing my liver? I think it's in those bushes over there."

It took a little over an hour, but soon Deadpool was again whole. It was amazing and horrifying to watch. And the sounds...The slick, crackling noises would haunt Dean's dreams, if he could ever sleep again. It was too much like watching the souls in Hell reform at the end of a day of torture. Dean couldn't look Wade in the eyes, not even with the mask on.

The mercenary stood and stretched, his body crackling as the bones completely realigned. He rolled his head on his shoulders, looking down at Dean.

"You feeling better, Chester?" he asked, so much concern in his tone that Dean wanted nothing more than to disappear. Deadpool tapped the hunter with the toe of his red boot, and said, "Dean?"

If not for the fact that the world was so silent, it would have been impossible to hear Dean whisper, "Why did you do that?"

"You were practically combusting back there." The merc shrugged, and said, "I knew you were feeling kind of stabby, so I figured I'd take you out here so you could work out your frustrations."

"I could have killed you," Dean said, still staring down at the ground. "You should be dead right now."

"Not the first time someone's said that to me."

Dean ran his hands back through his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks. "I don't know why I did that."

"It's what we do," Deadpool said with a shrug.

And that. That hurt. Dean was shaking now. He needed a drink. He needed an epic drunk. He didn't want to think or feel or move.

Deadpool grabbed Dean by the back of the shirt, hauling him up to his feet, and forcing the hunter to look at him. He straightened Dean's green overshirt, and asked, "You think you're going to be okay now?"

Dean nodded shakily, unable to express how bizarre it was that this man would give a damn about how he felt, considering he had almost ripped him in half.

"Good," the merc said with a grin and a buddy-slap to the shoulder.

The world tilted again, and they were back by the restaurant next to a fiberglass statue of an alien with big black eyes. The way Deadpool moved through space was very different from Dean's demon teleportation. Different even from Castiel's angel express. It felt like being disassembled.

"I think I found us a case," Deadpool said, acting as if nothing had happened. "Got an email from a buddy of mine who used to work for S.H.E.I.L.D. in their weird shit division. Something about a rogue god doing bad things in Montana. He's got some kind of immunity from Asgard or something like that-buddy of Thor. But fuck that poncy blond bitch."

"There's really a S.H.E.I.L.D.?" Dean said with a laugh. "I thought that was just in comic books."

Deadpool looked over his shoulder, and said, "This guy doesn't pay attention, does he?" Then to Dean, said, "Dude, this is a comic book. We're just characters. Load up, Winchester. We're going to Yellowstone!"


	7. Plot Twist

The Imposter Impala rolled into the town of West Yellowstone just as the sun was going down. It was a Tuesday, and being early spring, the hotels were not as packed as they might be during peak tourist season. They pulled into a shabby looking hotel with over priced rooms, and got two singles for which Deadpool paid.

After a shower, shave, and change of clothes, Dean knocked on Deadpool's door, and went inside hearing the merc sing-song, "It's o-pen!"

Dean opened the door and froze.

Deadpool was standing at the end of his bed wearing nothing but his mask and red boxers. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, Dean could see the extent of the merc's scars. He looked like he had been dipped in acid, dragged down a gravel road, then fed through a meat grinder. There wasn't a single place anywhere that wasn't pocked by welts and divots. The agony that he must have experienced…

The merc was on the phone, talking to his contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., and while some of the conversation seemed to actually be about the case, most of it was Deadpool flirting. When he noticed Dean looking at him, he smirked and said, "It's not polite to stare, Chester. I know I'm a sexy beast, but try not to drool. It's embarrassing."

"S-sorry," Dean stammered. "I...I was wondering if you'd, ya know, like to um…" He cleared his throat, and said, "Dinner?"

"He wants our man meat,"Yellow said with satisfaction.

"He's about to throw up," White snorted.

Deadpool just nodded. "Sure, Chester." He hung up the phone, and said, "Just give me a sec to get my party dress on."

Dean left, going out to the car to sit in the chill night. He couldn't get the image of Wade's body out of his head. Wade, not Deadpool. Deadpool was the one who wore the suit. But Wade was the guy underneath, and many times Dean had trouble puzzling out which one was closer to the merc's true identity. The voices didn't help, either. There were at least three distinct personalities inside his body.

"Chester…" Dean said, shaking his head. The nickname seemed to be sticking around, whether he liked it or not. It was probably the first time anyone gave him a nickname. The angels had called him the Righteous Man, which was a total crock of shit. He was never around someone long enough for a pet name, and Sam… Well, Sam didn't do things like that. He was always "Dean". And now, he was Chester. The name shouldn't make him smile, but it did.

Wade came out of his room, for the first time not dressed in his red and black suit. Instead, he wore loose fitted jeans and an oversized hoodie with the hood over his head. He still wore the mask.

He got in the car as he said, "Looks like my buddy is still hung up somewhere in Europe, but I got the intel. We're looking for a weapons master, which, honestly, makes my balls tingle."

Dean nearly choked on a laugh, and said, "Okay. Um…is that a good thing?"

"Fuck yeah, it's a good thing." Wade slouched back in the seat, rubbing his scarred hands together as he said, "My balls are attached to my joy center. When they tingle, I'm a very happy man."

Dean cleared his throat. "So, what do you think? Burgers? I saw a couple places along the road on the way in. There's some Mexican joint I spotted with…"

"Mexican sounds excellent," Wade said with enthusiasm, adding, "I love me some tacos."

There were just two cars in the restaurant parking lot, a small economy car and an old truck that was more rust than metal. Dean parked between them, eyeing the economy car like it was giving him personal offense. Where Deadpool's balls were tingling with joy, Dean's Demon Sense was tingling with something else that was almost sickening. He couldn't quite place what it was.

They walked inside and were seated in a corner booth under a faux Tiffany lamp. The merc ordered a plate of enchiladas, two super burritos with extra cheese sauce, a double side of rice and beans, two chimichangas, four tacos, a quesadilla, and a giant strawberry margarita to wash it all down.

Dean ordered a beef and bean burrito and a Corona.

The waiter left, and Deadpool lifted the edge of his mask to dig into the chips and salsa. Dean's eyes wandered over the scars there, and his mind wondered what the rest of his face looked like, especially after seeing his body. Maybe it was morbid to think about, but he'd been travelling with this man for over a week, and he had yet to see the man's actual face.

"You know, you can take the mask off if you want," Dean said encouragingly, going for the chill best friend.

"Just can't get enough of me, can you Chester?" Deadpool said with a smirk, though Dean could tell just by the sound of his voice that he wasn't comfortable with the idea.

Dean wanted to push the subject, but he decided against it. The merc was someone he didn't want to piss off. The scar on his neck was healing well, but he knew that Deadpool could have easily chopped his head off instead of giving him a little scratch. Though at the moment he was pretty sure he didn't have his swords on him, he was absolutely certain the bulges under his sweatshirt were guns. While Dean knew that he could not be killed by a bullet, he didn't want to mangle his meatsuit any more than necessary.

Besides, he liked Wade.

The food arrived in short order, and they fell into companionable silence. Dean even managed to finish his burrito and beer, and find it in him to give Deadpool shit for his girly drink, which resulted in more flirting than Dean had anticipated. The merc was full of surprises.

Once the main courses were finished, Deadpool ordered fried ice cream and a slice of cherry chipotle cheesecake and Dean had another beer. And despite the repeated rejections, the merc didn't give up until Dean had tried at least a bite of the fried ice creams, which he insisted was the best he'd had this far north.

It was only slightly weird that Wade fed it to him from his own fork. As Dean let the treat melt on his tongue, the merc said, "I hope you know this means you're my boyfriend now."

Any other time in his life, Dean would have probably mustered up some kind of defense of his masculinity, but instead he said, "I don't put out on the first date, mother fucker."

"Don't worry, Chester. I'll still respect you in the morning," Deadpool said as he slouched back in the booth, his fish-bowl size margerita in his hand. He took a long drink, licking at the sugar on the rim of the cup, and Dean shook his head.

After slurping the last of his drink, Deadpool gestured to the door and said, "Wanna get out of here? Go find a liquor store and do something stupid?"

Dean yawned, and shook his head. "We still have two bottles of Johnny Walker, and I'm kind of tired."

"Yeah. I'm kind of eager to get you in bed too," he said with a shark smile, before pulling the mask back into place. Dean didn't touch that one, knowing no matter what he did, it would not work out in his favor.

While Deadpool paid, Dean headed out to the car. The night had turned icy, and there were flurries starting to fall. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of ice cold air. But there was another scent, something strangely familiar.

When recognition hit, he only had a split second before he saw Sam standing over his shoulder in the warped reflection of the car window. Then he was facing his brother, his toes barely touching the ground as Sam jerked him up by his jacket, his eyes angry and face twisted with pain.

"S-Sam?" Dean stammered, still stunned. Too stunned to do anything but stare at his younger brother.

"Is this you?" Sam hissed.

Dean's brow scrunched. "What?"

"Five bodies, all gutted." Sam shoved him into the side of the car, and shouted, "Are you the one killing these people?"

"No!" Dean snapped, wrestling himself free of Sam's grip. "Fuck, Sam. Why would you even think that!"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're kidding, right? Like I haven't been following the carnage you've left all across the fucking country. What the hell, Dean?"

"The only things I've killed are demons!" Dean snapped back.

"And that makes it okay?" Sam looked like he was going to cry. "Do you know how worried I've been about you? How fucking certain I've been that you were going to be killed by some hunter?"

"You tried to exorciseme!" Dean shouted.

Sam's eyes shimmered. "Do you want to be this?"

"Of course not! But…" Dean let out a frustrated growl, then threw his arms around his brother. It only took a moment for Sam to do the same.

On the porch of the restaurant, Deadpool cocked his head to the side, and muttered, "Plot twist…"

Sam looked towards the voice, his back going rigid. "Who the hell is that?"

Dean cleared his throat, and said, "That is Deadpool. We're hunting together."

"Deadpool?" Sam said, his face lighting up. "You mean theDeadpool? The Merc with a mouth?"

"Aw schucks," Deadpool said, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels like a little girl with a crush. He came over to the brothers, and leaned to Dean, asking, "Who's your tall, handsome friend?"

"This is Sam," Dean said, waving a hand his direction. "My brother."

"Uh huh." The merc was unimpressed.

"This is the douche that wanted to send Chester to Hell. We should break his legs," Yellow said.

"Let Dean decide what we do," White said diplomatically.

Yellow was having none of it. "He fucks with our Chester-baby, we kill him."

Dean whirled on Deadpool, jamming a finger in the merc's chest. "You're not killing my brother!"

Deadpool raised his hands. "Sorry, Chester. Not me. It's the boxes; I can't control them." The merc cleared his throat, and said, "Nice to meet you, Sammy."

Sam frowned at the name, and was about to correct him, when Deadpool vanished with a snap.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, confusion on his face.

Dean didn't really know how to explain Deadpool. "He, uh, he does that sometimes."


	8. Monsters

As it turns out, Dean and Sam had chosen the same hotel. Sam's room was three doors away. And that economy car that made Dean's Demon Sense tingle of course belonged to his brother. That bit of information made him feel a little sick, because why wasn't he driving Baby? Sam assured him that Baby was locked up safely in the Men of Letters' garage and was in perfect working order, then spouted off something about gas guzzling antiques and the Mark on Dean's arm started to itch.

There was a certain amount of relief when Dean saw Deadpool standing by the Coke machine. When he disappeared, Dean worried that the merc would leave entirely. While at first he was kind of a nuisance (or at least unwelcomed company), over the last few days he'd started to really like Wade. To consider him something close to being a friend. At least a kindred spirit.

Dean ran-walked to the merc, and tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice as he said, "I was worried you wouldn't be here."

Deadpool looked over Dean's shoulder at Sam, who seemed to be struggling to decide if he should come closer or retreat. The merc sighed, and said, "Don't worry, Chester. Just because I disappear doesn't mean I've disappeared."

"Good," Dean said with a nod. "Cuz I really don't want you to disappear, okay?"

There was a mischievous glint in his white eyes as he said, "If you wanted a kiss goodnight, all you had to do is ask."

Dean just shook his head.

"Chester's cute when he's all flustered," Yellow purred.

"I'm not flustered," Dean said with a laugh. "Just, come on. I want you to actually meet my brother."

"I usually don't meet the family until we've been going steady for..."

"Shut up, Wade," Dean said with a laugh.

Sam was in fan-girl mode as he gripped Wade's hand, and said, "Seriously, you have no idea how amazing it is to meet you, Mr. Deadpool."

Wade laughed. "'Mr. Deadpool' was a douche wad in another dimension. You can just call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or you may come up with some other variant. Just not 'mister'. Makes me feel icky."

"Okay. Uh, Deadpool." Sam grinned, all starry eyes and unable to contain himself.

"He's going to hump our leg," Yellow said.

Dean snorted a laugh, and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Calm down, Samsquatch. Let's go somewhere private to talk."

The three went to Dean's room, which was the midway point. Sam took the chair by the window, and Dean sat on the bed. Wade sat on the floor with his legs crossed and chin propped on his hands.

"This is going to be good," White said as Deadpool looked from Winchester to Winchester.

"If blood starts flying, we're on Chester's side," Yellow said.

"No killing the Sammy, though," White warned, as Dean looked down at Wade.

"Just maiming," Yellow said with finality.

Dean was about to comment, but Sam was the first to speak.

"So," he started, completely oblivious to the conversation happening inside the merc's mind. "What do you guys know about the case?"

"Straight to business. Nice and safe." Yellow said with approval. "Good boy."

Dean cleared his throat, and said, "All we know is there's a demigod in the area."

"A weapon's master," Wade added. "The guy who made Thor's Hammer and Zeus' lightning bolts. Hephaestus. The Heph."

"How do you know this?" Sam asked, eyebrow quirked. "I've been here three days and haven't found any leads. All the research is pointed towards a pagan, yeah, but I've never heard of a cult of Hephaestus."

"I know what I know," Wade answered, offering nothing else and brooking no disagreement.

Feeling the tension in the room getting a little thick, Dean said, "Wade has a lot of contacts. That's how he heard about the case."

Sam's demeanor shifted as he turned towards his brother. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask…"

Yellow was in bold. "Here it comes!"

"...Why are you hunting again?" Sam said.

"I never stopped," Dean said defensively. "What the hell do you mean, 'again'?"

Sam gave a shrug. "You've been doing nothing but killing demons for months. Why stop now? Why are you really here?"

"I have to have some ulterior motive to want to help people?" Dean was on the verge of shouting. The Mark was starting to tingle. "The fuck, Sam. You really think I'm just some black eyed evil bastard? Like I just woke up one day and…"

"All you did for months before you died, was kill." Sam's voice was harsh. "It didn't matter who it was. You enjoy killing, Dean. You've enjoyed it since before the Mark. Since before all of this bullshit with Abbadon. You have always got off on killing, and you know it!"

Dean's jaw tensed as his eyes turned black, and Wade was suddenly on his feet between the two brothers, who were about to start throwing punches.

"Children!" he shouted, a hand against both of their chests, pushnig them apart. "I'm certain that you both have your reasons for this impending cock fight, but we're not here to fight each other. Right?"

Dean and Sam just glared. It hadn't escaped anyone's attention that Sam had Ruby's knife in his hand the moment he stood. Dean had also drawn his blade.

Sam was the first to back down. He took a shuddering breath, and said, "I'm outta here. Fuck this."

Dean started to follow him, but Deadpool had his arm in a vice grip.

"You're not going anywhere, Chester," Wade said in a soothing voice. Then he leaned close to Dean's ear and said, "I know what you're feeling right now. It's that burning under your skin. You want to see blood. You want to hurt someone, hear the sound of death and dying. You want to hurt something because it's the only thing that makes you feel alive."

With a guttural growl, Dean shoved the blade into Wade's stomach. The merc let out a groan as the blade twisted, his body falling against Dean. His white eyes looked almost hopeful as the strength left him, his hand falling away from Dean's arm as the blade was wrenched out of his body.

Dean blinked, and the blackness vanished. The rage dissipated as well, and he caught Deadpool before he could completely fall away from him.

"I'm a monster," Dean mumbled, hearing Wade start to stir. He had carefully laid the unconscious mercenary on the bed, tarp in place to catch the blood that continued to flow for the first few minutes before he started to regenerate.

Wade sighed. "You know something, Chester. I've been called a monster my whole life. Sometimes for my looks, but usually because of the fact that I kill people for money."

"People?" Dean asked, looking up from his study of the floor.

"Yeah." Wade coughed out a laugh, pushing himself upright. "You and your baby brother, you get all starry eyed talking about the vampires and zombies, but you leave out the hundreds-no-thousands of regular old, 100% human beings I've killed. Sometimes just because I didn't like the way they looked at me. Sometimes because they didn't agree with my taste in movies. Sometimes for no other reason than I felt like killing something because I was fuckin' bored."

He paused, letting that information sink into the hunter's brain before he added, "I'm the monster, Dean. I've probably always been a monster. I don't care who I hurt or why, so long as I get paid. Here and there, I do good things, and somehow that justifies it all. But I'm a monster in every sense of the word."

Dean was about to say something, probably some kind of retort, but Wade didn't let him get out a syllable.

"Sometimes I think being alive is my Hell," Deadpool said, looking down at his hands. "It's my punishment. Death is just too easy, too quick. Hell would actually be a vacation for something like me. I'd excel in the Pit." He laughed, looking back at the hunter. "But not you, Chester. You feel too damn much to be a monster. You actually give a fuck. You have that sad look in your eyes like a man carrying the cross. You don't want to kill, you just want to do the right thing. Save Sammy. Save everybody. Hell, you probably think you can save me…"

Cain's words came back to him. How he said there was something 'incorruptible' inside of Dean. He didn't feel incorruptible. The blood on the front of the mercenary's shirt was proof of that.

"I've tried to kill you twice now," Dean said, defensive. "If I was really trying to save you, why would I do that?" He stood up, flinging his arm towards the door. "I wanted to kill my own brother, man. In the last few months, I've killed angels. I killed people who didn't deserve to die, who shouldn't have died. Before, I would have exorcised them. That is what I should have done. But I don't do it. Fuck, you exorcised a demon the night I met you. You actually saved that woman's…"

Deadpool cut him off. "Correction. I saved one out of seven, and the only reason I did that was so that demon could go to Hell and deliver a message. See Chapter 2 if you need a refresher."

"The point is," Dean growled, "I'm getting worse. Not better. I used to actually save people. Now, all I can think about is the next kill. That is the only thing I think about. Day and night. When I sleep, I dream about death and Hell. I can't even claim to not want to kill, because I do want to kill."

The merc laughed. "Well, Chester, I guess that means we're soulmates."

Silence settled in for a few minutes. Dean looked at the blade, at the blood that caked the surface and settled between the teeth of it.

"How do you control it?" Dean finally asked.

Deadpool gestured to the bloody mess of his shirt, and said, "You feed your urges."

"I can't keep stabbing you," Dean said, shaking his head. "It's not going to fix the problem."

He shrugged. "We hunt. We find the bad guys. We take out the evil things in the world."

Dean laughed bitterly. "Okay. So we kill every evil thing on Earth. What then? There's still us, right?"

Deadpool stood and walked to Dean, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he said, "Hopefully, by then, the good people of this world will have figured out how to kill us both."

While it wasn't the most cheerful of thoughts, Dean nodded. "Hopefully, you're right."


	9. Intervention

At first, Sam thought about grabbing his gear, loading up the car, and getting the hell away from the town of West Yellowstone. Seeing his brother's eyes turn black in a blink, the way he trembled with the blade in his hand… It was hard enough seeing it once, but being confronted with those eyes a second time was enough to make Sam want to cry.

The worst thing was the feeling it was all his fault. If Sam hadn't pushed Dean away, maybe his brother wouldn't have teamed up with Crowley. Wouldn't have received the Mark. Wouldn't have sought out the First Blade. True, he had every right to be pissed about being possessed by Gadreel. But Family is the most important thing, even if that concept becomes a very warped form for morality.

With a heavy sigh, Sam sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples. He thought about sending a prayer to Castiel, but didn't think that was the right course of action. Bringing the angel in at this time would be more salt on the wound. Cas still believed in Dean, despite everything. Still believed that he could be saved and would be saved before he was completely gone to the darkness. Perhaps because Dean always believed the same about the angel.

But Sam… Sam didn't really believe. He'd been to the edge of the same blackness and knew, deep down, there was no coming back from it. Not without being somehow broken.

At some point in the night, he finally fell asleep, still fully dressed. It wasn't restful. It wasn't peaceful. Black eyes followed him everywhere he went in his dreams, along with visions of smoke and ash, and all the memories of the Cage. He was tense and shaking.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, and Sam's eyes popped open just in time to see Deadpool's face before the world shifted and he slammed into frosty ground. Sam jumped to his feet, reaching for his weapon as he wheeled on the merc, but all he saw was a blink of light. A couple moment's later, Dean was standing in the same clearing, which Sam had barely registered as some sort of park. They had a second to glare at each other before Deadpool reappeared holding two large brown sacks.

"Mornin' Winchesters!" Wade said, smiling under his mask. He was wearing his full costume, his impressive amount of weaponry polished and ready for any battle. He sat the sacks on a nearby table, and started pulling out items, which basically amounted to about 20 breakfast burritos, a small sack of sauce packets, an orange, and six cups of coffee in a drink carrier.

"What the fuck is…" Dean started, still glaring at Sam.

"An intervention," Deadpool said as he shoved a cup of black coffee into Dean's hands. Then he turned to Sam, and said, "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I flipped through your file and found you like cappucino with a double shot of espresso and a pump of sugar free vanilla." He held out the cup, adding, "Drink it in solidarity."

Sam frowned. He was too tired. He took the cup, popping the lid and taking a drink. It was still hot and scalded his tongue, but damn it was good coffee. Then his eyebrows shot up. "Did you say my file?"

Dean groaned. "What are you doing, Wade?"

"I told you, an intervention," the merc said as he handed both brothers a burrito. He gestured to the table. "We're going to sit in this park, eat breakfast, and then we're all going to leave bestest buddies. You dig?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"For once, I agree with Sam," Dean grumbled.

"Okay, but you're still 50 miles away from the hotel," Deadpool said with a smirk. "So sit your asses down, eat, and talk."

Dean frowned. Despite being able to move around in a blink, he didn't have the Merc's kind of range. Or if he did, he didn't know how to do it. The farthest he'd ever moved via teleportation was about two miles.

He plopped down at the table with a grumbled, "Fuck…"

Sam sat across the table and opened the burrito, which was dripping with grease. "Just looking at this makes my arteries harden."

Deadpool set the orange in front of him and smiled. "There ya go, Sammy. Nice and healthy."

"Can we just get to the point," Sam groaned, setting aside the burrito and picking up the orange. "You brought us out here. Start talking. Intervene so we can get back to work and find this demigod."

Dean was quietly eating his burrito, trying to ignore how badly he wanted to disappear. Or stab someone.

"Okay," Deadpool said after taking a bite of his first burrito. "Fact is, you two are a couple of dumbasses. Probably always have been, but that's beside the point."

Sam was about to disagree, but a finger in his face made him go silent.

"You," Deadpool started, "You have to learn to accept your brother as he is. All this exorcising and demon kniving is really not conducive to a healthy relationship."

Sam's brow furrowed and Dean smirked.

"And you," Deadpool said, turning to Dean who was seated beside him. "You need to stop being such a self-loathing cunt."

Dean frowned.

Deadpool picked up another burrito, and added as he slathered it in hot sauce, "But above all else, you two idiots need to stop with the half truths and lying bullshit. If there's one thing I hate-and I mean fuckin' hate-it's liars. You two are prime examples of why." He took a big bite, and while chewing, added, "The Winchesters are pretty damn famous. You're known to be the baddest hunters on this continent. You and your little angel buddy. But you're known as much by your fuck-ups as by your successes."

"Guess we can't all be you," Sam snarked, then did his best to shrink into a black hole upon getting the full force of the merc's glare.

"Fact is, I don't want you to be me." Deadpool gave Dean a meaningful look. "This world doesn't need more killers. It needs it's honest to God good guys. Now, it's obvious that you two have been experiencing friction for quite some time, if the books are anything to go by."

"Books?" Dean blurted. "You mean the Supernaturalbooks?"

"Is that…" Sam sighed. "The files. Our files. Are you talking about Carver Edlund's books?"

Deadpool grinned. "Hell yeah."

Sam was a little red faced. "You have to be kidding me."

The merc again opened his pouch, and pulled out Bugs, No Rest for the Wicked, and All Hell Breaks Loose.He plopped the well-worn books on the table. Sam and Dean shared a look, and almost in unison put a hand over their eyes.

"You've seriously read that crap?" Dean groaned.

"I have the entire series," Deadpool said with a grin. "My buddy Bob gave me the first one, and I got hooked. Then when I found out you two were real guys...Well, from one star of the bookshelf to another, I was a little excited to meet you."

Sam groaned.

Deadpool added, "The fanfiction is tre amusing, my friends."

"I'm going to find Chuck and fuckin' kill him," Dean said with the utmost sincerity as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is...This is really embarrassing."

"I told you back in Chapter 3, I know you better than you think, Chester."

"Chapter 3?" Sam asked, looking to his brother for an explanation.

Dean sighed. "Wade thinks that everything that is happening here right now, is all just some story. A comic book, to be precise. Complete with little boxes in his head that narrate everything that happens."

Sam cocked his head, looking at Deadpool with interest. The wheels in his head were visibly turning as he slowly nodded, and said, "Why not?"

Dean laughed. "Are you serious?"

With a shrug, Sam said, "Well, think about it. Our lives are in books. Literally, the last however many years of our lives are on paper. Everything we've done, good or bad. Straight from the angels to Chuck." Sam laughed, gesturing to Deadpool. "Why would we be the only ones?"

"Little Winchester is a brain," Yellow said appreciatively. "We should pet him."

"But we like Chester. No petting little brothers!" White snapped.

Dean sighed. "The Gospel of Wade."

"Has a nice ring to it." Deadpool grinned, looking from brother to brother. "Feeling better?"

It took a moment for the brothers to understand what the hell the merc was talking about. Then they remembered. Right. Intervention. Breakfast burritos. Kidnapping…

"Oh…" Sam looked at his brother. He had not forgotten the black eyes, or that Dean was a barely contained ball of rage waiting to explode. Just for a moment, he let it slide. He took a deep breath, and said to Dean, "Look, uh, I'm sorry for trying to exorcise you. Honestly, I thought it wasn't you.But when I knew it was you, I…" Tears sprang to his eyes, as he said, "I never wanted to see you like that. You're my brother. And there was so much badbetween us. I thought you were really, truly gone."

"Sammy…" Dean looked down, trying to find the words he wanted to say, but nothing was coming. Then he felt Wade's hand on his shoulder, and he realized he had to say something. "Uh...I...We…" Nothing was coming. Nothing.

Deadpool sighed, giving Dean's shoulder a shove. "Just fuckin' hug it out so we can finish breakfast."


	10. Hephaestus vs The Hulk

As it turns out, the hunt wasn't all that difficult once there were two Winchesters and a Deadpool on the case. Sam's research combined with the intel that Wade's S.H.I.E.L.D. associate provided-along with hacking into the local security cameras, a couple interviews, and a chance encounter with one of Hephaestus' cohorts-made finding the demigod pretty easy.

Finding being the operative word. Killing or apprehending him...Well, that was another story.

When one is a weapon's master of the gods and goddesses of several pantheons, it really was no surprised that the sonofabitch was well armed.

"Tell me again how we're supposed to stab him in the chest with a piece of willow?" Sam asked, looking to his brother.

Dean was still bleeding from the shard of rock that fragmented from Hephaestus' last volley of whatever the hell those little purple things were. He thought that maybe, with the three of them, two could set up a distraction while the third stabbed the demigod in the back. It sounded like it would be easy. But Wade's teleporter was malfunctioning, and Dean couldn't get close because the sonofabitch was warded out the ass against demons.

While the two brother's hid and tried to puzzle out a new plan, Deadpool was seeing just how many times he could be hit before bleeding into unconsciousness. At least, that's what it looked like to Dean. At last count, Wade was down two fingers, had a gaping hole in his side, and a leg that bent at an angle that was not natural to the human anatomy.

Still, the merc kept swinging at the demigod, flying through the air like an acrobat. The way he moved was impossibly fast, even with a broken leg. And while the man was somewhat of a crazy person, every movement in combat flowed like some kind of choreographed dance.

Dean was so wrapped up in watching the spectacle of the fight, he almost forgot he was in it until Sam grabbed him by the jacket and threw him aside just as another rain of purple destruction fell from the sky.

When the explosions stopped and Dean looked back, Deadpool was on the ground and not moving. There was something strange about the way his body was laying, and it wasn't until he saw Hephaestus raise the merc's severed head in the air that he realized why.

"No…" Dean gasped.

The demigod threw the head towards where Sam and Dean were hiding, and shouted, "It's been a pleasant battle, my friends. But I think it is time for you to join your friend in the Underworld."

Dean barely registered there was a voice speaking to him, telling him they needed to call Castiel. Because Dean's vision had turned to fire and his eyes were obsidian, and he left the cover of the rock. When his eyes settled on Hephaestus, he raised his hand and gripped the man in a telepathic vice and squeezed.

Sam watched in wide-eyed horror as the demigod's body warped and twisted, then flew apart. Blood and bone fragments splattered against the petrified stumps, a red mist of gore that made Sam's stomach twist and bile rise in his throat. Even more horrifying than the death of Hephaestus, was the fact that Sam had never seen a demon with that kind of mojo. Angels, yeah, but not a Demon. Not even Azazel. And for a moment, the younger Winchester worried that Dean's wrath would be turned on him.

In a blink, Dean's eyes were back to normal and he was kneeling beside Wade's body. At some point, he'd picked up Deadpool's head, which he was now trying to reattach. Sam went to him, his eyes flooded over with tears.

"He's gone, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'm so sorry, but he's…"

"He's not gone!" Dean shouted. He dug around in his pocket and found some duct tape, which was just as good as stitches when you were in a pinch. Sam would have thought it comical, watching Dean try to tape the merc's head on to his body, if the situation wasn't so desperate.

"Dean…" Sam said softly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Dean shrugged him off, and shouted, "He's not dead. It just takes time. You'll see." He ripped the end of the tape, shoving it back in his pocket and completely ignoring his own wounds that oozed thick and red.

After two hours with no change to Wade's life signs, Dean finally agreed to get out of the clearing. With Sam's help, they wrapped the merc in a blanket and carried it as stealthily as possible back to the Imposter Impala, carefully laying him in the back seat. The trunk was loaded up with what remained of Hephaestus' arsenal, which would be taken back to the bunker to be studied.

Dean didn't say a word, and his mind was blank in a way that it never was. This wasn't the first time he'd lost somebody. Hell, he'd barely known the guy, but for some reason he really, honestly thought that Wade was going to be around for a very long time. Maybe it's because he had eviscerated him twice, and the merc just kept going.

They drove back to town in complete silence, and stopped only for Sam to pick up his eco-friendly car before turning East. Dean had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to return to the bunker. Sam promised that he would remove some of the warding so that Dean could move around freely without being trapped. Once they were there, they would give Wade a proper hunter's funeral.

As the night came on, Dean wondered who he should tell about the merc's death. He'd only mentioned two friends during their time together. Bob, and some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that was never called by a proper name.

The hours and miles went by in a blur. They stopped for gas, bought food that Dean didn't eat, and just kept going.

Everyone dies, Dean thought miserably. And now, knowing that his life was going to continue on and on, always watching the people he cares about die, he wished again that he was the one who was dead. Eventually, Sam would grow old and die, but being a hunter, growing old might mean he makes it to 50 before he's finally killed for good. Never to return...

"Fuck me…"

"What the fucking fuck!" Dean shouted, as he hit the breaks and the car swerved onto the wide shoulder of the interstate.

Wade's voice was a rasp, as he said, "Did I scare you, Chester?"

Dean was practically crawling over the seat, dome light on. Deadpool's head was all that was visible outside the blanket. "You're alive!"

"I got my head cut off, didn't I?" he said with a wince.

"Uh, yeah. You did."

He wiggled a little more, then looked up at Dean, who was smiling like an idiot. "Are you going to drool on me, or help me out of this blanket death trap?"

With a little struggle, Dean wrestled Deadpool out of the car and unwrapped the merc-burrito. He was caught off guard when the merc's newly freed arms wrapped around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze and a peck on the cheek.

Wade laughed, a pained coughing noise. He stepped back, rubbing a hand on his duct taped neck, and he smiled under the mask. "Thanks for putting me back together. I've had to regrow a head before, and it...Well, it didn't work out great for anyone involved."

"I thought you were…" Dean started, but was cut off by a gloved finger pressed to his lips.

"It's okay, sweet prince." The merc gave Dean a light shove, and asked, "Are there any Twinkies left in the trunk?"

It took Dean a moment to get his brain back in the game. Then he nodded, and said, "Yeah. And a couple of those gas station sandwiches in the front seat."

Wade popped the trunk and grabbed two boxes of Twinkies, then got in the passenger's side front seat where he started methodically eating. It was barely noticeable, but he was shaking. He was weak, weaker than he ever liked to feel. He'd taken a serious whammy from Hephaestus, which reminded him…

"What happened with Heph?" he asked, starting on his second box of Twinkies and opening a sandwich.

"I killed him," Dean gritted out. "After...When you went down, I sort of hulked out. And, uh, well...I made him explode."

Deadpool nodded. "Nice one, Chester. Maybe you should try the whole 'hulk' thing before I get my head chopped off next time."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah. That would be ideal."

They passed a sign, and Wade asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the Men of Letters bunker," Dean answered, adding, "Home."

"Home." The word tasted funny on Deadpool's tongue. "Didn't know you had a home, Chester."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, guess you could say it's our legacy."

Wade was quiet, munching for a few minutes, before his eyes brightened. "Have you told Sam that I'm still alive?"

"No. He doesn't answer texts when he's driving."

"Probably good to have a shred of self-preseveration." Wade grinned. "Don't tell him."

They arrived at the Men of Letters bunker not long after the sun came up. Sam was waiting by the garage doors, still wearing the solemn expression he had when they loaded Wade into the Imposter Impala.

Dean parked and got out of the car. Sam walked to him, gave Dean a brotherly pat on the shoulder before pulling open the door.

Wade shouted.

Sam screamed and bolted upright, his head slamming into the door.

Dean just smirked and clicked "save video" before tucking his phone back in his pocket and heading to the door.


	11. Home Sweet Home

"This place is fuckin' nice…" Yellow said with box-like awe.

"We should not be here. We're going to wreck the place," White said with a box-like sigh.

"We'll be good. We can be good for a while," Wade said aloud. "You two just keep your opinions to yourself."

"This is just the garage!" Yellow said with excitement.

Dean smirked, listening to the internal conversation as he dutifully polished Baby. He'd missed the sleek, black Impala. Driving the Imposter was practically sacrilege, and for the last hour he'd been repenting for ever touching another car.

"I know you missed me, sweetheart," Dean said with a smile as he buffed out another non-existent smudge from the chrome surrounding the left headlight. "Sammy just doesn't appreciate your beauty."

Sam was across the garage listening to his brother and Wade talk to themselves, and he wondered for not the first time if this was really a good idea. The vague explanation of the voices in Deadpool's head was somewhat unsettling, and Sam wanted to discuss it further at some point. And really, Dean had always talked to the Impala like it was his long lost girlfriend.

He cleared his throat, and both men looked at him. "I got the wards down."

Dean nodded, and muttered, "Thanks," as he popped the cap on leather cleaner. "I'll be in in a few minutes, okay Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Didn't mean to interrupt happy time." He turned on his heels and headed back through the door.

Wade walked over to Dean, his eyes sliding over the glossy curves of the Impala. "She's gorgeous."

"I've rebuilt her more times than I care to say," Dean said as he started cleaning the driver's seat. "It was my dad's. I grew up in this car."

"Most important car ever built, according to Carver Edlund," Deadpool said with a grin.

Dean looked up at him. "Seriously?"

Deadpool grabbed a rolling stool and sat down. "Yeah. Swan Song was all about the Impala, and how it helped Sam beat the devil."

Dean paused in his buffing, and looked at the merc. "I thought he stopped publishing after No Rest for the Wicked?"

The merc opened his pouch and pulled out a couple grenades, a My Little Pony t-shirt, and finally found his copy of the book. He handed it to Dean, who flipped it open, his face grimacing more with each turn of the page.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch." Dean slapped the book shut, and sighed. "I swear, I'm going to find that bastard someday."

"I'm with ya." Deadpool grinned. "Maybe we can do that before all's said and done. We'll hunt down the goddamn writers putting us through all this bullshit."

"That sounds like a fun plan." Dean went back to polishing, then froze, eyeing the pouch on Deadpool's hip. The one that seemed to have everything possible inside. He gestured to it, and asked, "What all do you have in there?"

"Everything," he answered. "It's a dimensional sack. Everything goes to a sub-dimension. Think Time Lord technology. It's bigger on the inside."

A further hour of polishing later, and Baby was at her full glory. Dean had worked up an appetite and had a healthy amount of grease on his skin. For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about killing or maiming or revenge. All he was thinking about was showing Wade the rest of the bunker and grabbing a beer.

It felt good to walk through the doors of the bunker, to see all the sights and smell the smells that now meant "home". Not all the memories were good-some were downright horrible-but it was still theirs. It was the first real home Dean had since he was 4 years old, and nothing was going to change that.

Wade was beyond impressed with the place, letting out a low whistle upon entering the map room with it's towering ceiling and marble floors. Sam practically lived in the library, judging by the mound of dirty clothes on the floor and blanket on the couch. The younger Winchester was currently in the kitchen, and a very pleasant aroma was wafting through the vents.

Dean went to the fridge, impressed that Sam had kept the beer stocked, even if it was behind bags of produce and a package of tofu. He grabbed three and tossed one to Sam and Wade. He popped the lid, and held up the bottle. "To home."

Sam nodded, and all three took a drink.

After beer and a salad (Sam's idea of dinner…), Dean led Wade to the living quarters. When they first arrived, Sam and Dean staked out their rooms, and figured the rest would never be filled. Then Castiel's room had been set up, even though he never used it. Charlie's room was easy to identify with the Star Wars poster on the door. Dean wondered if she would ever come back from Oz.

Though all his stuff was now with his mother, Kevin's room was still locked and reserved forever in the young prophet's name. No matter how much time passed, Dean doubted he would ever be able to open that door.

Thus, there was only three rooms available, and Wade opted for the one that was closest to the shower room. Everyone had avoided it because of the noise the pipes made, but it didn't seem to phase the mercenary as he dusted off the mattress and opened his Bag of Holding and dug out a set of sheets the same color red as his costume.

When Dean came back an hour or so later, after a shower, shave, and change of clothes, the place looked like Wade had always been there. Swords, guns, a rocket launcher, and several different types of explosives decorated the walls. The small wardrobe was full of clothes, all neatly hung with boots lining the bottom. And the small shelf above the bed was stacked with Wade's collection of Supernatural and Deadpool books.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Wade's voice beside him.

"Kinda cozy, isn't it?"

Dean turned, and had to do a double take. Wade was wearing hot pink, Care Bear footie pajamas. And Dean did not laugh, would not laugh at a man who could probably kill with his thumb.

Sam, on the other hand, had no decorum. He came around the corner, and burst into a giggle, before saying, "I don't want to know," and turned back the way he came.

Wade ignored the younger Winchester, and looked at Dean. "Did you need something?"

"No, I, uh…" He gestured to the room, and finally found the brain power to say, "Just wanted to make sure that you're settled in okay. Gonna get some sleep. So, if you need anything…"

"Don't worry. I'm a big boy. I can manage," Wade said with a grin. He patted Dean on the shoulder and walked into his room.

Dean couldn't stop himself from smiling, as he said, "Goodnight, Wade."

Wade plopped on his bed, and said, "What? No kiss?"

Dean flipped him off, still grinning, and headed for his own room.

Everything was exactly as he left it, including the messy bed and socks in the corner of the room. After the first post-demonic encounter Dean had with Sam, he imagined that his little brother would have tossed all of Dean's belongings into the incinerator. But that really wasn't Sam's style. He was more the type to mope and do nothing than destroy things.

With a satisfied sigh, Dean flopped down on the mattress and buried his face in the pillow. He wiggled around, enjoying the caress of his memory foam mattress that knew just exactly how to hug his body. Even if his mind was a restless, dark place, at least his bed was comfortable. It was a bed that only ever had his body between the sheets, and if that isn't home, then there is no such thing.

Being home didn't stop the nightmares from coming. He found himself standing in the desert, surrounded by everyone he ever knew. Everyone he felt he let down. Some were people he didn't get to in time to save from whatever monster took their life. Some were the bodies of demons he'd killed before learning how to properly exorcise. Others were collateral damage from the Apocalypse that he kick started. The crowd went on forever in all directions.

Up close, though, were the ones that he wished would just leave him alone. Bobby looking tired and haggard. Pamela with her stomach still bleeding. Jo…

John Winchester was coming close, his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted with disgust. His lips didn't move, but Dean could still hear his voice. You're a disappointment, Dean. Always were too weak.

And Castiel. The angel stood beside him, his piercing blue eyes under a furrowed brow. He whispered in his gravely voice, "Hello, Dean."

Dean shot up in bed, on his feet in a moment. His eyes scanned the room, expecting to see the angel there. But he was alone, and felt alone in a way that had nothing to do with a lack of company. The faces of all those people-thousands-lingered in his mind. Turning on a light didn't make their voices go away. Especially John…

According to the clock, it was 2:30 in the morning. He had managed two full hours of sleep, and had no desire to try it again. Dean walked barefoot into the hall, his eyes going briefly down to Wade's closed door, before turning on his heels and going towards the map room. He was just about to pull out his cell phone and play a round of Angry Birds, when he noticed a nice aroma on the air.

Following the scent to the kitchen, he found Wade standing by the stove with a stack of pancakes on a platter and more going onto the griddle. He was still in his footie pajamas, but he was noticeably missing one constant accessorie. The mask was off, laying on the counter by the refrigerator.

Dean paused, studying the scars and sores that covered the merc's head. Some were raw, as if they were still healing. For someone who healed so fast from losing a head, Dean had to wonder why Wade's body was so scarred.

"Hey," Dean said as he leaned against the door frame.

Wade stiffened. "Thought you were sleeping, Chester."

"Yeah, that was my plan, but…" Dean shrugged.

"Bad dreams." He nodded, "Me too."

Dean pushed off the door frame and walked to the coffee machine and started the process of making a fresh pot. Sam had stocked the little area with a variety of roasts and several bottles of flavoring. He walked to the sink, chancing a glance at Wade, wanting to know what the man's face actually looked like.

With the way the merc hid behind the mask, Dean expected something grotesque. Yeah, there were scars, but that was just part of life. Really, the merc had a nice profile. Solid, sharp cheekbones, strong chin. Chocolate brown eyes…Dean felt his face heat up at the comparison of the merc to anything chocolate and melting in his mouth.

"We've broke his brain with our stunning good looks," Yellow said with pride.

White jumped in, "He's probably trying not to vomit."

"I told you before it's not polite to stare," Wade said tightly.

Dean looked away, his face burning as he said, "S-sorry. I just…" He knew he needed to say the right thing. He didn't want to accidentally insult the merc, who was clearly feeling very vulnerable. Dean was struggling to find the right words, but was coming up empty. He was never good with words. Actions, yes, but words… Dean set the pot aside, and said, "You don't have to hide from me, okay? You shouldn't hide from anyone. But… Just… I… Fuck."

"Shut up, Chester," Wade said with a smirk, as he flipped a pancake. "You hungry? That salad was great and all, but…"

Dean grabbed a plate and handed it to Wade before finishing with his coffee making. With a bottle of maple syrup that somehow survived Sam's sugar inquisition, the two took their heaping plates to the library. Dean turned on the TV and found that Sam had purchased the 4th season of Game of Thrones. They popped in the first disc and sat on the sofa to eat, each making guesses of just how many boobs will be in the first episode.

It didn't take long for the sugar and carbohydrates to do their magic. Dean started to yawn, and his head nodded forward. Wade grabbed a blanket from the floor and used it to cover them both before turning off the TV and closing his eyes with a whispered, "G'night, Dean."

Dean woke feeling warm and cozy, having slept through the night without another nightmare. It was only belatedly that he realized he was snuggled up against Wade with an arm curled around the merc's waist and face buried in his chest.

He only had a second of consciousness before hearing the click of Sam's cell phone, and his brother mutter, "Payback."


	12. Friendly Competition

The air was cool and crisp, and the sounds of battle could be heard all the way back at the bunker. When Dean and Deadpool first decided to have these daily sparring sessions, Sam thought it was a good idea. The first day, Dean returned with a gaping hole in his side and Deadpool had his own severed hand in his pocket. Despite insisting that the two find a more productive way to work off energy, Sam bought more bandages and restocked the first aid cabinet and helped patch his brother up when Deadpool got a little loose with his swords.

The trio had been holed up in the bunker for going on two weeks, and while there were a few moments of tension, Wade seemed to be the master peace maker. It was always a very strange kind of peace, usually involving some sort of distraction like the mercenary running into the room with a curse box and saying, "This is making a funny noise", or random gunfire from the indoor range followed by a shout of pain. Sam decided that Wade shot himself on purpose. A lot.

And like the good brother he was, Sam said nothing about the fact that he kept finding Wade and Dean sleeping in different places around the bunker. Always huddled together under a blanket, their limbs tangled together in ways that looked uncomfortable. He did continue to take pictures just for blackmail purposes.

On this morning, Sam woke early to go for a run and found Dean and Wade snoozing on the kitchen table. Actually physically laying on the table. Dean was on his stomach, face buried in his arms with Wade draped across him like he was a human blanket. Sam went to work fixing his coffee, making as much noise as possible to rouse the two snuggling killers. Wade was the first to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes like a disgruntled toddler. Then he elbowed Dean in the side, and the two stumbled off to get dressed to go out into the woods to try to kill each other.

He was so focused on the sounds in the woods, Sam didn't notice the rustle of wind and feathers that heralded Castiel's arrival, and almost jumped out of his skin when the angel's gravel and dust voice said, "Hello, Sam."

Now on his feet, Sam looked at the exceptionally morose angel; he was never very cheerful to begin with, but now…

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, his voice only slight high pitched. "Uh, what's going on? Everything okay?"

The angel stared off into the forest, eyes squinting at the trees. "How long has Dean been back?"

"A couple weeks," Sam answered, his face heating from shame. "I know I promised I would call if I found him, but…"

"It's okay, Sam," Cas said softly. "I know this must be very difficult for you."

"He's really trying, Cas." Sam sighed. "He's still, you know…"

"A demon," Castiel gritted out.

Shoulder slumping, Sam nodded.

"And you've removed the warding," Cas said, his tone hard like an annoyed teacher.

Sam nodded. "I know it's dangerous, but I wanted him home. It's better with him here. At least he's not killing anyone."

Right on cue, a pained groan echoed through the trees.

Castiel grabbed Sam's arm, and in a blink they were standing in the clearing where Wade was on the ground, a splintered bone sticking out of his right shin and missing most of his left leg. Dean was on the other side of the clearing, digging through the bushes to find the rest of Deadpool's body and hadn't noticed that the two had spectators, saying over and over, "I'm sorry, so so sorry."

Wade, who was in full costume, waved a hand towards Sam, and shouted to Dean, "Honey! We have company!"

Dean came out of the bushes holding Wade's leg and froze seeing Castiel. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before he disappeared, the leg falling to the ground with a thud.

"Dammit," Wade grumbled as he rolled over on his stomach and started belly crawling towards his fallen limb.

Castiel walked to the hobbled mercenary, and asked, "Do you require assistance?"

"Nah, I got this," he said with a grunt and a glare.

Sam rushed across the clearing and with a certain amount of displeasure, picked up the leg and carried it back to Wade.

"Thanks, Sammy," he said, his breathing heavy. As he started pushing bones and flesh back together, he looked up at the angel and asked, "Are you Constantine?"

"Castiel," Sam corrected, bile rising in his throat with each squishy sound coming from the merc's body.

The merc's face spread in a mask-covered grin. "Yeah. I heard of you. Dean talks about you all the time in his sleep."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Wade wiggled his newly attached leg, then jumped up to his feet. He held out his hand to the angel, and said, "Wade Wilson, but most call me Deadpool."

Ignoring the proffered hand, Castiel asked, "What are you doing with the Winchesters? Why are you sleeping with Dean?"

"You really do have that jealous boyfriend vibe happening, Cas," Wade said, dropping his hand to his side.

Cas frowned.

Sam waved a hand to get the two's attention. "Shouldn't we be worried about Dean right now? You know, vanishing?"

"Nah," Wade said as he dusted himself off. "He's sitting in the Impala right now, probably hyperventilating."

Dean wasn't hyperventilating, but he was sitting in the Impala gripping the steering wheel so tight that one twist would probably rip it off the console.

He was shaken. The last couple weeks had been nice. Yeah, there were problems here and there (like Sam never cleaning the hair out of the drain, damned sasquatch…), but things were good. Wade was teaching him how to suppress his urges, and to control his anger. Those morning sparring sessions, while brutal, were meant for learning. And if the end result was a release of pent up rage, then all the better for everyone.

Dean was also learning how to tap into his demonic power at will, rather than by reflex. He spent most of his time reading and re-reading Cain's journal, which was probably the most detailed accounting of the potential power of a demon outside of the Demon Tablet. There was a specific summoning ritual for the wearer of the Mark of Cain, which Sam had learned with great enthusiasm. There were also special warding symbols that hid a Knight of Hell from other demons, which Wade had dutifully tattooed onto Dean's chest across from the anti-possession tattoo.

There was still a lot to learn, and a lot to get under control. He wanted to have himself fine-tuned before bringing Castiel into the picture. Really, Dean wasn't ready to face Castiel. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Then Castiel was suddenly sitting in the passenger's seat, his presence heralded by a soft, "Hello, Dean."

Dean did not flinch. Instead he took a deep breath, fighting the way his eyes instinctively went black in proximity to the angel. After a few seconds of tense silence, Dean whispered, "Hey, Cas."

"Sam tells me you've been here for two weeks." Cas snippy, on par with the way he acted when Dean found him in Idaho. Petulant.

"I asked Sam not to call you," Dean said softly.

Cas looked at him, his blue eyes going to Dean's core as he demanded, "Why?"

Dean looked at him, eyes black as night. "Because I'm a fuckin' demon, Cas. I can't… You…" He tried to find the words, but he was locked up again.

"Do you think I would abandon you? Now? When you need me the most?" Castiel sounded genuinely confused. Hurt.

"Maybe I want you to abandon me!" Dean snapped, glaring at the angel. "Don't you get that, you junkless sonofabitch! The 'Save the Righteous Man' campaign has failed."

Castiel didn't bat an eyelash. "I told you once that you deserve to be saved. I still hold to that belief, even if you do not."

"Then you are the dumbest thing in creation." Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, and growled, "Look at me!"

Cas did look, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You told me once that you would have me, cursed or not. I never deserved the faith you had in me. Not once. And now, I would only be a hypocrite if I turned my back on you, my friend."

Dean wanted to punch something, wanted to tear his hair out. But all he did was sit there and stare into the shimmering blue eyes of the angel until he had to look away. He gritted his teeth, and said the words that clawed him apart every day and night: "I don't think I can be saved, Cas."

Castiel put his hand on Dean's arm, and said, "Maybe it's true, but I'm not giving up."

At that moment, the side door of the garage opened, and Sam and Wade walked in. Sam glanced nervously towards the Impala, then headed to door leading to the main room of the bunker. Wade followed behind Sam, though not without a few looks towards Baby.


	13. Angels Demons and Mercs OH MY!

Lunchtime was somewhat tense, as Castiel joined the Winchesters and Deadpool at the table. Sam had brought out his salad bowl, while Dean and Deadpool opted for roast beef sandwiches and a bag of chips. Castiel nibbled on a spoon of peanut butter to attempt to blend in with the humans, though it was still a disappointment.

For the last couple weeks, mealtimes were filled with conversation. Usually snark about Game of Thrones, or sharing stories of different hunts. But with the angel present, Dean wasn't talking. He'd talked enough in the car. And Wade… The merc was behaving strangely. Not only was he quiet, but the voices in his head were silent too.

Sam was the only one attempting to break the silence with small talk.

"So, uh, Cas-How's heaven?" he asked while pouring dressing over his rabbit food.

"Peaceful," was Castiel's response. Which was absolutely true. After the angels had been forced to Earth and fought among themselves for so long, there was a sense of togetherness that hadn't existed for a very long time. Sure, there were still a few troublemakers here and there, but their attempts to cause friction didn't gain momentum.

Silence again prevailed, broken only by the occasional loud crunch of chips from Wade. Sam was certain that the merc was being obnoxious on purpose. It had not escaped Sam's attention that Wade's mood had shifted since the arrival of the angel, and he felt that he knew why. Wade had a thing for Dean, be it a bromance or romance. And though Dean would deny it until he was blue in the face, in some ways he reciprocated the feeling. The two spent a lot of time together, and the night time snuggling was just one symptom. When Dean got frustrated or angry, Wade was a pro at calming him down-even at the expense of physical harm to himself.

It wasn't a healthy relationship, at least not by any normal human standards. But throw in the added return of Dean's other awkward man-friend, and Sam saw the world's strangest love triangle unfolding before his eyes. If not for the fact that the three were practically forces of nature, it would be funny. Sam just hoped he didn't end up in the crossfire.

"So, Metatron…" Sam attempted again.

Cas' brow furrowed. "Imprisoned. In heaven. No change."

Wade smirked and popped the last bite of his second sandwich in his mouth. More than half the bag of chips had made its way to his stomach, along with a 2-liter of soda. He let out a loud belch that echoed across the room as he stood up and grabbed his plate.

Castiel's eyes followed the mercenary to the door of the kitchen. Then he fixed his gaze on Dean. He spoke softly, as he said, "I want to try to cure you, Dean."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Cas?"

Sam cleared his throat, and said, "Remember the trials? Curing a demon?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his eyes darting to his brother. His eyebrows rose. "You want to try to cure me? With your purified blood?"

"Not me," Sam said, frowning. "Cas, you can't do…"

"I'm becoming human again, Dean," Castiel said softly. "I will do this for you. My Grace, it's fading. For a time, I was reenergized by being in Heaven, but it is only a temporary fix. And while remaining in Heaven might keep my Grace going for much longer…" He sighed, looking Dean in the eyes as he said, "It's not where I want to be."

Sam stood up, completely unnoticed as his brother and the angel stared at each other. He walked to the kitchen and found Wade sitting on the counter munching on Oreos. The last few weeks, Sam had gotten used to the mercenary leaving his mask off when in the bunker. But now, he had the mask pulled down, only lifting it off his mouth to shove in another handful of cookies.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

He nodded, and through a mouthful of cookies, said, "Jush aweshum, Shammuh."

Sam snagged an Oreo and leaned against the stainless steel table. "Cas really is here to help, you know."

The merc swallowed, giving Sam an annoyed look. "I'm not his jilted lover. I don't need consolation or whatever it is you think you're giving me. What I really need right now is to drop a stink pickle and take a nap. That's all."

Deadpool hopped off the counter and shoved the package of Oreos into Sam's arms, then disappeared up the stairs. A few seconds later, the clang of the bathroom door echoed through the bunker.

Sam sighed heavily and ate another Oreo.

Castiel spent the rest of the day in the library, studying the Men of Letters' journals and notes concerning the demon cure. Father Thompson's notes were very detailed, but it was still a singular event. Sam had not finished the ritual, stopped by Dean before he could complete the task of curing Crowley. And the fact remained that Dean was not just any demon. He was the Knight of Hell.

There was in the angel's mind the memory of Cain's fate, and the correlation was not lost on him between Cain and Abel, and Dean and Sam. There was always a hint of jealousy between the brothers, but always love. Both Cain and Dean were the strong ones, offering up everything they had to provide for their younger sibling. But both had a warped way of giving, and both were prone to falling for the easy path.

In truth, Castiel did not like the idea of the brothers under the same roof. Sam explained Dean's problem with anger, and all Cas could think of was the rage of Cain to strike down his brother. Of course, Cain's version was somewhat different. In his journal, it was a sacrifice to save Abel from Lucifer. It didn't take much to imagine Dean's distorted mind somehow justifying killing Sam in order to save him from some fate.

John Winchester had suggested it before he died. Save Sam, or kill him. That was before the Apocalypse, but Castiel knew well that it would only take a slight push to put everything back on the path of Armageddon. Sometimes, he thought about the Cage where Michael and Lucifer still waited. Who knows what kind of terror they could bring to Earth after an eternity together.

Sighing, Castiel set aside the book, head lolling back against the chair. He was tired, a sensation he understood very well. He'd used his mojo a little too much for one day, flying to get to Dean. Twice. Now, he needed to rest and recharge.

Footsteps in the hall made Castiel sit up straighter, eyes squinting as Wade came into the library wearing a T-shirt with Thing 1 and Thing 2 on the chest and matching Cat in the Hat pajamas. He had a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a beer in the other. He paused, seeing the angel.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Then Wade walked past the angel and vaulted over the back of the couch, landing in a lounging position with the remote in his hand. He flipped on the TV, scrolling through the DVR to find his recordings of Space Dandy.

A few minutes later, Dean appeared at the door holding a six pack of beer. He was also in his pajamas, though he opted for plaid lounge pants and an old T-shirt. He looked at Wade then at Castiel.

"Is this another one of your daily rituals?" Castiel asked, his head tilted in that way that reminded Dean of a confused kitten.

Dean shrugged. "Kind of?"

"Why don't you join us?" Wade said, peeking over the couch. Dean frowned seeing the mask was still in place.

The angel's face twisted in confusion. "What am I joining?"

"Anime Saturday," Dean said with a shrug.

Castiel stood up and followed Dean to the sitting area. Wade moved to one end of the couch, crossing his legs beneath him. Cas sat on the far end of the sofa still wearing his trenchcoat, his back ramrod straight. This left Dean between the merc and the angel. After passing out beer, and Wade deciding that Dean should be the popcorn holder, the merc pushed play.

It wasn't long until Cas started asking questions. Why is that space station shaped like women's breasts? How can a robot cry? I don't understand why his hair is amusing, Wade…

Wade gladly accepted the challenge of explaining anime. The merc was very much an otaku, and was very animated with his explanations. He seemed to really like going the extra mile with some things, like his own experience with a ball gag when Cas asked what was in Lady Liberty's mouth.

By the time Space Dandy had ended and they were one commercial break into One Piece, Sam had joined the group. He sat on the floor between Wade and Dean, his gigantor legs stretched out and ending in a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. Wade braided Sam's hair. Castiel burned the second bag of popcorn, but he finally took off the coat and had the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows.

Dean drank beer and slouched between his two best friends, and felt for the first time in a while, that he wasn't alone. There was still a lot of things to work out. Sam and Cas were hell bent on curing him, and if they didn't, Wade was convinced he could keep Dean from going full Dark Side.

It was a good night.

The next morning, Sam was the first to wake. He slept on the floor, and opened his eyes to an adorable puppy pile on the couch. Dean's head was in Wade's lap. Castiel lay against Dean with an arm around him. And Wade had flung one leg over the arm of the couch, and was using Castiel as a pillow. It didn't look comfortable, but it was too adorable for Sam to not add it to his growing file of blackmail pictures.

He tiptoed to the main hall where he'd left his phone the night before, and snuck back to the library.

But when Sam finally turned on the screen, he saw he had three missed calls, all from a Michigan number. There was also a voice mail.

Abandoning the puppy pile picture, Sam dialed his voicemail, entered his code, and heard a young man's voice say, "Uh, you don't know me. I don't think. But I found this number in my mom's stuff. My name's Ben Braeden. And I need help."


	14. The Persistence of Memory

When Sam played the message for everyone at the bunker, Dean had turned ghost white, followed by steaming mad red with the black eyes to match. His anger wasn’t at the kid, but rather directed with laser precision on Castiel. He started shouting guttural threats in Hellspeak that made the angel’s eyes literally bleed, until Wade heroically stepped in and teleported Dean to a safe distance where Wade was literally ripped limb from limb. 

 

Apart from the complete and utter ruination of his Cat in the Hat pajamas, Wade was none the worse for wear when it was all said and done. And Dean was, as usual, incredibly contrite and apologetic as he gathered the mercs limbs and waited for Deadpool’s healing factor to knit the flesh back together.

 

Less than 30 minutes later, they gathered together in the main hall of the bunker with all their gear, and Castiel teleported them to the source of the phone call. What had started as concern for some kid who was potentially in danger from some supernatural threat, quickly shifted to a different kind of concern.

 

The kid’s story started on a weekend when Ben’s mom, Lisa, was gone away on a trip with her new boyfriend, some guy named Jack. In between googling free porn, eating microwave burritos, and doing his best to charm the pants off of the chick that just moved in down the street (Nora, or Nancy, or something with an N-name…), Ben got bored and ended up digging around his room for the missing disc for Halo 4. 

 

During the hunt, he found a strange box that he didn’t remember having, and it was filled with items that made no sense. There was a sort of medieval looking journal with his handwriting, an old day planner with a lot of his mom’s handwriting, a junk MP3 player with lots of classic rock, and a thick manila envelope with a big question mark on the outside. It was an odd stash, especially the journal. 

 

All thoughts of finding the lost Halo disc were erased as he started reading. The first date was from 7 years ago, and described an evening in which he was kidnapped by some kind of a monster, then helped some guy named “Dean” save a bunch of other kids who were being held captive and soon to be eaten. It was quite the story, and Ben was never one for writing horror. He wasn’t much of a writer at all, and didn’t remember ever having some kind of journal. 

 

The following entries were shorter. Talking about having nightmares about the “Changelings”, and wishing Dean had stayed around. Then they moved to a new town and a new house. There was talk about some girl he liked named Ginny. He remembered Ginny. She was his first big crush, with golden hair and freckles. They were now Facebook friends. 

 

There was less talk about monsters and nightmares, and just regular kid stuff for a couple years. Then Dean made a reappearance. Only this time, Dean had come to live with him and his mom. Ben wrote things that he would be embarrassed to say out loud, about how much he loved hanging out with Dean. How Dean was teaching him things. How he hoped that Dean would always be around. 

 

Just reading the words made his head hurt. Sometimes he would mention another kid or a neighbor, and they would be in his mind clear as day. But Dean, who seemed to be such a huge part of his life, was a blank spot that no matter how hard he tried, he could not fill. 

 

After taking a couple aspirin, Ben decided to open the envelope. Inside were pictures. Lots of pictures. Pictures of him and his mom at a barbeque, pictures of his mom and some guy that Ben couldn’t remember, though the face felt oddly familiar. Ben playing baseball with this stranger, and working on some old black car. Ben playing in leaves with this strange man in the background. There was maybe 100 pictures, all from when he was around 11 years old. 

 

Ben didn’t remember any of these moments, even as he stared at his own face. 

 

The experience was...unnerving. Very disturbing. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t remember these events--he imagined everyone forgot things. But to forget so much? So many happy times? And it was obvious they were happy, just by the way his mom’s face was lit up. She never smiled like that. Not even with Jack.

 

Rubbing his temples, Ben looked to the day planner, flipping through the pages. There were dates for his games, for school meetings, special events. And hidden among them were Dean’s tee times at some golf course, his appointments with a therapist (all annotated with “cancelled” in red), and a few guy’s weekends to go fishing in Canada. Dean was everywhere in that box, but no where in Ben’s mind. 

 

There was, however, a phone number. Actually, five phone numbers. One was for someone named Bobby with a note that said “Dean’s friend”, another with the name Sam next to it, and the last three were Dean’s cell phone one, two, and three. 

 

Ben stared at the numbers, glancing at the pictures, and his own journal before deciding to go ahead and just start dialing.

 

It shouldn’t have been such a disappointment when all of Dean’s numbers went to the automated, “The number you have dialed is no longer in service” message. Same for Bobby’s number. The only one that went to any kind of a voicemail was Sam’s number, whoever that was. 

 

The first time he called it, Ben hung up after the brief, “It’s Sam, leave me a message” greeting. He didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything. So he sat and stared at his cell phone, stroking the peach fuzz stubble on his chin. After a half hour of brooding, he dialed again, hoping that this Sam guy would answer. Maybe he could say something simple. Maybe ask for Dean? 

 

Again, just went to the voicemail. Again, he hung up. 

 

Ben decided that it was stupid. There was no reason to be doing this. He tried to think about something else, but the weird feeling that he had forgotten something important kept popping back in his head. It was like trying to remember a dream, and every time he came close to grasping the gossamer edge of the vision, it slipped through his fingers. It was maddening.

 

Finally, at a time far too late to be calling a stranger, Ben dialed again. When the tone sounded at the end of the greeting, Ben mumbled out, “Uh, you don’t know me. I don’t think. But I found this number in my mom’s stuff. My name’s Ben Braeden. And I need help.”

 

It seemed like a good thing to say. Short and to the point, and hopefully something that would garner some kind of a response. Feeling strangely relieved from finally taking that step, Ben flopped down on his bed and went to sleep.

 

In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have said, “I need help”. Or maybe he should have been clear on the fact that he was trying to figure out something about his past. Maybe just said something along the lines of, “Just looking for information, no need for three overly armed men to show up in my house.”

 

As they sat around the small dining room table and the kid told his story, Wade started to get a very uncomfortable feeling. It started out as a slight uneasiness in his gut that quickly bloomed into rage. Although, unlike Dean, Deadpool kept his emotions to himself. The mask was helpful to hide the fury that stung his eyes and heated his skin.

 

By the time the kid had laid out all the pictures, the journal, and made mention of the headache that he had just thinking about all these events described in images and words---not to mention the guilty look on Dean and the angel’s face...

 

“Someone erased your memories, kid,” Yellow said. It was the first time the box had spoken in a while. 

 

Dean heard the voice and looked at Wade, a fleeting, guilty look.

 

“You did it, didn’t you?” Came the White Box, who had been silent even longer. 

 

“We should gut you where you sit, you sonofabitch,” Yellow growled. 

 

Dean stood up from the table, cutting off Ben mid sentence. His eyes narrowed on the merc, and he growled, “Outside, Wade.”

 

Wade stood so fast, he knocked his chair over. He grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket and the world shifted. 

 

Once the split second of dizziness passed, Dean barely managed to dodge the edge of Deadpool’s katana. He was not prepared, not at all. He didn’t have the rage built up that usually accompanied their battles. He was just Dean Winchester, who had just had the sins of the past dumped onto his head and no idea why Wade was suddenly trying to kill him. This wasn’t sparring; this was life and death.

 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Dean growled, barely managing to parry another brutal swipe. 

 

Deadpool--Wade wasn’t home right now--looked at Winchester with narrowed eyes. He stood with his swords shaking in his grip, hot breath steaming out of his mask. The voice he spoke with was not recognizable as Wade. “It was the Workshop, wasn’t it? That’s where it started. The fucking headaches. That fucker Killbrew with his goddamn smirk.”

 

Now Dean was really confused, but he didn’t have much time to reflect on that as the merc dove once again, this time slicing open Dean’s side. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was deep enough to hurt like hell and turn Dean’s eyes black. 

 

“Stop this!” Dean growled. 

 

Another attack, this time slicing open Dean’s upper thigh. Deadpool moved fast. Too fast. Faster than even the eyes of Hell could see, and Dean felt a tingle of something akin to fear as the merc dove at him again, and again, each time nicking him in a new location. Each was a little deeper, a little more vital. 

 

“Do you know how bad it stinks in the Deadpool?” the merc hissed as he prowled around Dean. “Everything else is gone. Everything! Except for that. The stink of that fucking cesspool of corpses and skeletons.”

 

Dean was coiled tight, blood coating his jeans and shirt. If not for his demon soul, he would be on the ground writhing. 

 

The merc suddenly threw aside his swords, and the next instant he had Dean by the throat. The First Blade was still gripped in his hand, and Dean stabbed and stabbed, but the merc’s grip did not lessen. It tightened, crushing Dean’s windpipe. 

 

Deadpool threw him down to the ground and stood over Dean’s body. A body that was dying. There was no apology in the merc’s cold white eyes. No mercy. 

 

“Kill him,” Yellow urged. “He’s just like the doctors at the workshop.”

 

“But he’s Chester,” White said. “He has nothing to do with the workshop.”

 

Wade grabbed his head with both hands and shouted, anguished, “Shut up! Just shut up! All of you! Get out of my head! GET OUT!”

 

There was a rush of wind, and suddenly Castiel was there. He pressed his palm to Deadpool’s head, and the merc’s body filled with holy light that burned out his eyes. He flopped on the ground with a heavy thud.

 

Dean could barely see, and his demon soul was aching to flow out of his doomed meatsuit. But then there was a rush, like going too fast on a Tilt-a-Whirl after bad beer. No matter how many times he’d felt Cas’ healing power, it was always alien to feel his flesh come back together. 

 

A moment later, Dean was on his knees beside Deadpool’s lifeless body. He peeled back the mask, revealing the burnt eye sockets and scorched lines around the merc’s mouth. 

 

“Wade…” Dean whispered, his hands cradling the scarred and puckered flesh. 

 

Castiel kept his distance, looking down at the merc’s body with pity. “I saw into his mind, Dean. He was in so much agony. He was begging to die, and I…”

 

“It’s okay, Castiel,” Dean said, the syllables of the angel’s name feeling awkward on his tongue. He sighed heavily, wiping away the tears that spilled over his lashes. “He’ll be back.”

 

“Dean…” Cas started, but fell silent seeing the merc’s arm twitch. 

 

They waited in silence as Deadpool slowly started to come back to life. In Castiel’s eyes, it was like watching a fire burst forth out of cold ashes as the merc’s soul fluttered anew. 

 

“Here I am,” Wade croaked out, his eyes still hollow burned sockets. Slowly, he pushed his way up to his feet. For a moment, he swayed, trying to find his balance. By the time he was completely upright, his eyes had returned. He looked Castiel and sighed. “Looks like even angels can’t kill me. I shouldn’t be so disappointed.”

 

“You, uh, okay?” Dean asked, taking a step towards him.

 

Wade glared at him. “Just fuckin’ peachy. Never better.” He bent down and grabbed his katanas, sheathing them in a quick motion. Then he started walking, moving towards a grove of trees. 

 

Dean followed a few paces. “Where are you going?”

Wade stopped, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. Dean hoped he would speak, explain what just happened. Instead, the merc vanished with a snap of air.


	15. Killer's Remorse

When Dean and Castiel returned to the house, Ben and Sam were sitting on the couch with their journals open. Both looked up to see Dean’s bloodied clothes and had nearly identical looks of horror.

 

“I’m fine,” Dean said softly. There was no more fight in him at that moment. 

 

Ben nodded, and said, “Sam’s been telling me about my missing memories. About the stuff you guys do.”

 

Dean didn’t even have it in him to be mad at his brother for taking that step. The kid had questions. He had evidence to back everything up. No point in lying any more. Dean nodded, and sat down in the chair. 

 

He sighed, rubbing his temples, as he said, “Look, you and your mom were really great to me. But what we do...It’s dangerous. And…”

 

“You erased our memories to protect us,” Ben interrupted. He didn’t sound angry, which Dean took as a good sign. “Sam told me about the crazy things that were happening. That we agreed to do this.”

 

Dean’s eyes shot to Sam, who gave a flicker of a shrug. 

 

Ben looked at Dean, green eyes that were mirrors of the hunter’s. So many times, Dean lay awake at night wondering if the demon that possessed Lisa was telling the truth, that Ben was really his son. She’d denied it several times, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to him. Either way, Dean couldn’t be a father. Not before, and especially not after the Mark. 

 

“You can’t tell your mom that we were here,” Dean said after the silence went on too long. 

 

Ben nodded. “I kind of figured that. But…” He bit his lip, looking down at the journal in his hands. “Can I, I dunno, hang with you guys every now and then? Go hunting? I mean, I’ve helped people before. I want to help people…”

 

“No,” Dean said with finality. “This life isn’t a weekend hobby. Every day of my life has been spent knowing that what goes bump in the night is real and deadly. You’re a good kid. You don’t need to have that weight on your shoulders.”

 

Ben slouched back against the couch. “That’s such bullshit.”

 

“Watch your language,” Dean snapped. 

 

“Fuck you, dude,” Ben snapped back. “You have no right to tell me how to do anything. You’re a blank spot in my head. And I bet that once you leave, I’ll forget all about this, won’t I? These pictures and books, they’ll mean nothing to me because you’ll mean nothing to me. You’ll just be something erased from my head. Something I won’t even know is missing.”

 

“It’s for your own damn good,” Dean growled. “You don’t want to remember the things that happened.”

 

Ben snatched a picture off the table and tossed it at Dean. It was a picture of Dean, Ben, and Lisa, smiling and happy. “Maybe it would be nice to remember the good things, Dean.”

 

Sam sighed, and said, “You’re right, kid. You’re absolutely right. It’s not fair.” 

 

The kid stomped off to the kitchen and returned with the box, and without ceremony shoved everything back inside, then tossed it to Dean. “Take this bullshit and get out of here. I wish I’d never called you. I wish I never met you.”

 

Dean’s jaw tensed, but he couldn’t deny that the kid was right to feel that way. It just hit a little too close to home. He’d regretted coming to Lisa after Sam took his swan dive into the pit. He hated himself for ever thinking that he could have a life with them. And now, looking at Ben, who was so grown up and still so fragile, it was like putting salt in a wound that still festered. 

 

“All I can say is, I’m sorry,” Dean gritted out. “I wish things could be different.”

 

“Just go,” Ben replied, the fire in his voice replaced with sadness. “Get out.”

 

Castiel touched both Sam and Dean on the forehead, and in a shaking instant, they were back at the bunker. The angel stood for a moment, swaying on his feet, then fell into Sam. Sam quickly scooped him up and carried him to the couch in the library.

 

“Battery’s probably pretty low,” Dean said as he sat the box of Ben’s memories on the table. 

 

Sam looked at the box, then looked at his brother. He wanted to shout at him for everything that Dean had ever done wrong in his life, but he didn’t bother. There was no point. He’d argued the subject of Lisa and Ben too many times to ever think it would make a shred of difference. Tomorrow morning, the kid would wake with a headache and no memory of Dean Winchester. Which made Sam both sad and envious at the same time.

 

He loved his brother. Loved him very much. But sometimes, Sam just wanted to punch him in the face. 

 

Instead of prodding the Braeden bruises, Sam asked, “Where’s Wade? What happened when he zapped you away?”

 

Dean walked to the liquor cabinet and grabbed a glass. “I really don’t know. He…” Dean paused to pour, and sighed. “I think he’s had his mind erased before. He realized what happened to Ben, and he flipped out. On me. Kept saying something about the Workshop.”

 

“Your clothes are covered in blood,” Sam said, ever a pro at stating the obvious. 

 

“Yeah,” Dean said with a smirk. “Cas saved my ass from smoking out. This meat was pretty much dead by the time Deadpool was done with me. Angel showed up, threw down a smiting on Wade, then healed me. No wonder he’s captain comatose.”

 

Sam frowned. “Sometimes you sound too much like a demon.”

 

“Gee whiz, I wonder why?” Dean snapped. “Could it be because I am a fuckin’ demon?”

 

Without another word, Dean left the library. He stomped up the metal stairs towards the living quarters and was about to slam the door on his room when he heard a noise from down the hall. Wade’s door was open and there was a light on inside. 

 

Hesitantly, he went to the door and whispered, “Wade?”

 

There was a sound of a bed squeaking, then the merc opened the door. His mask was off, and his eyes were tired and red rimmed. For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Dean wanted to ask so many questions, wanted to demand answers for what happened back in Michigan. He wanted so many things, but all of it caught in his throat when he saw that the merc’s clothes were absent from the wardrobe and the walls were bare of weaponry.

 

“Don’t leave,” Dean said softly. 

 

“Why would you want me to stay?” Wade asked, averting his eyes. His voice was weak and he was shaking. The smiting had taken a lot out of him, no doubt. 

 

Dean put a hand on Wade’s shoulder, ducking to catch the merc’s gaze. “I want you here, Wade. I need you here. Whatever happened today… I get it.”

 

“I almost killed you,” Wade said.

 

“Not like I haven’t flat-lined you a few times,” Dean said with a hesitant smile. 

 

“We’re...I’m…” Wade grabbed his head, and an anguished sound issued from his lips. “All I can see is that pit. The bodies. The stink. And I want it gone. I want the nightmares to be over.” He choked out a sob, adding as tears fell down his ruined face, “I want it all to be over.”

 

Automatically, Dean let his arms wrap around the merc, pulling him close. Wade was a big guy, just as tall as Dean but with more muscle. But in that moment, he seemed so small and frightened as he cried into Dean’s shoulder. They stood there in the doorway, silent except for the occasional whimper and sniffle, waiting for the storm of terror to pass. 

 

Eventually, it did. The tears went away, the shaking stopped, and then it was just Wade and Dean standing with their arms around each other, neither willing to be the first one to let go.

 

It was Wade who finally stepped back. He rubbed the back of his head, and mustered up a ghost of his usual Merc Smirk, and said, “All this cuddling’s made me hungry. How about we grab some take out?”

 

Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”

 

Sam was still in the library when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He peeked out just in time to see Dean and Wade walking side by side towards the garage. As soon as the door clicked shut, he went to the storage room and started digging through the catalogue, looking for anything about The Workshop. There was some vague mention of it somewhere, and it seemed to be just a footnote. 

 

Within 15 minutes, Sam was on the floor with a stack of notes in his lap on something called the Weapon X. It was of little interest to the Men of Letters. Originally, they believed the government was using magic to try and create Super Soldiers. But the program was shut down after the scientist in charge--a man named Erskine--was killed in an attack on their laboratory. There was little else mentioned about the test subject, Steve Rogers, other than the experiment enhanced his physical abilities. 

 

After that, the Super Soldier protocol was either abandoned or no longer of interest to the Men of Letters. 

 

So Sam went to his stand by, and googled Weapon X. 

 

To his absolute shock and amazement, there were Zero results for the search. So, he tried a search for Steve Rogers. Then Super Soldier Protocol. The only things that popped up were a few conspiracy websites with links to big foot sightings. 

Frustrated, Sam slammed his laptop shut a little too hard, and silently wished that Charlie was here. Charlie could hack into government websites without being found out. Charlie was a pro at everything espionage. But Charlie was still in OZ.


	16. Confessions

Sam woke sometime in the night with a cramp in his neck and his face wet from drooling onto his arm. He sat up, stretching his long arms and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then he sat for a couple sleep-dazed minutes staring down at the table.

 

“You’re so cute when you first wake up.”

 

Wade’s voice made Sam jump to his feet, his heart suddenly pounding as he shouted, “Jesus, Wade! What the… You scared the shit outta me.”

 

“I don’t smell anything,” Wade said with a sniff of the air. He was sitting on the couch by the lamp, just a silhouette against the green lampshade. “Interesting research you’re doing though, Sammy.”

 

Sam had to think for a second to remember what he’d been doing before going to sleep. Then it all clicked, and he said, “I remembered hearing something about a sort of ominous ‘Workshop’ before.”

 

“Yeah.” Wade closed the folder he was reading, and said, “You could just ask me.”

 

Sam walked around the couch and sat, glancing towards Wade. “It, uh, seemed like a sore subject. Didn’t want to open old wounds.”

 

The merc huffed a laugh. “Interesting choice of words.”

 

“Sorry,” Sam said with a shrug. “I didn’t really find anything, though.”

 

“You found some pretty interesting things, kid,” Wade said. He stretched out his legs. He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark red t-shirt, same as he wore when he left with Dean. Sam had to wonder where his brother was.

 

Wade tossed the folder to Sam, and said, “Do you know who Steve Rogers is?”

 

Sam shrugged. “No. Test subject?”

 

“Try the ultimate test subject.” Wade grinned. “He’s the guy who became Captain America.”

 

The young Winchester’s eyes went wide. “You’re joking.”

 

“No. Dead serious. The first Super Soldier was originally a scrawny kid from the Bronx.” Wade slouched against the back of the couch. “I met him once. Nice guy. Straight arrow if ever there was one. Didn’t really care for me much. But in a way, I’m the end result of what he started.”

 

Sam’s ears perked up. 

 

“It’s Origin Story Time!” Wade said with that odd Narrator voice. “See, once upon a time back during WWII, there were a lot of mad scientist types running around trying to enhance humanity. And in the middle of their search for perfection, they found some humans who went sort of above and beyond your average Joe Sapien. These labcoat wearing ass hats collected DNA, tissue samples, and whatever else they could from these anomalies, and used it to make various serums. Captain America was the first success. The only success for a very long time.”

 

He paused, his eyes going distant. After a moment, he said, “Weapon X was something else entirely. It was a one of those black projects that got funded via nefarious means. The idea was the same. Make better humans. Only this time, they focused on making the ultimate killing machines.” 

 

Sam’s blood started to feel very cold in his veins. He’d seen the way that Wade--Deadpool--operated. How weapons were extensions of his body. Combat was just as natural to him as breathing. Maybe even more so. And if he came out of some program…

 

“I only remember fragments from before,” Wade said softly. “More like feelings. Like I feel like my mom was a short chick with frizzy hair. The only thing I know for sure is that I had cancer. And that was what made me sign my body over to Dr. Killbrew. He said that they had a way to fix me. But what they did…” His voice cracked, and he had to wait a moment before he continued. “It was so painful. Agony. Absolute agony. And it went on for days at a time. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

 

Wade fell down into his thoughts. He remembered the table, how cold it felt against his skin. Then how hot his skin felt when they started pumping the serum into his blood stream. The way his stomach hurt for days, and the things that spewed out of his guts when the treatments were over. Even then, all he wanted to do was die. But they weren’t done with him, not until the day came when they thought he had been destroyed by their experiments.

 

There was no funeral. No call home to mommy to let her know her sweet baby boy had died at the hands of some mad man in the Workshop. There was just a ride out the back door, where he plummeted into a festering sea of corpses. The Dead Pool, where all the failed experiments went. 

 

It was cold. He remembered that clearly. So damned cold that his muscles froze and his eyes frosted. But he was aware of his surroundings. Aware of the rotting flesh that surrounded him, water warmed by the decay. There was snow. So much snow. It turned his feet to ice when he started walking away from that Hell. 

 

Sam’s eyes were glistening with tears. He’d been to Hell. Literal Hell. And the torments he experienced there were on par with what the man next to him on the couch had experienced on Earth. It was hard to imagine that someone could survive that without being a little mentally unstable. 

 

“Thanks for telling me,” Sam said after a few minutes of silence. 

 

Wade shrugged a shoulder. “Thanks for listening.” He sighed, and added, “You too, Chester.”

 

Sam’s brow scrunched, then he looked behind them and saw Dean standing in the doorway. Dean had the same haunted look in his eyes, and Sam knew that he too was remembering Hell. In that moment, Sam’s resolve to find a way to save Dean redoubled. 

 

He stood up from the couch, and said, “I’m heading to bed.” He touched Wade’s shoulder, and said, “If you ever need to talk, about anything…”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade said with his typical smirk. “That’s enough chick flick time for now.”

 

“My brother is rubbing off on you,” Sam said with a laugh.

 

Dean scowled at his brother, and walked into the room as Sam walked out. He rounded the end of the couch and handed Wade a beer as he sat beside him. Unlike Sam, he didn’t leave an entire couch cushion between them. 

 

Wade took a drink, and grimaced. “This tastes like shit.”

 

“Sam’s choice,” Dean said with a similar frown. “From some microbrewery.”

 

“Further proof that some people need different hobbies.” Wade downed the rest of the bottle with a few quick gulps. “You not sleeping either, huh?”

 

“Nah.” Dean took another sip and sat his bottle on the small table. 

 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the stillness of the bunker. It had been a rough day. Stressful in ways that went above and beyond the average in the life of most people. Nothing is more stressful than dealing with the ghosts of the past.

 

Then Dean felt Wade’s hand curl around his. It was a gentle, almost timid gesture. Like the merc was afraid Dean would pull away. And true, Dean’s immediate inclination was to do just that. Pull away, jump to his feet and spew something about personal space and man-zones. Instead he gave Wade’s hand a soft squeeze. 

 

Dean could feel the heat rising on his face. He felt like such a schmuck for doing this. Hell, he didn’t even know exactly what “this” was. Holding hands. It was something kids do. But when Dean looked at Wade and saw the soft smile curling the corner of his mouth, Dean’s heart did a strange dance in his chest. 

 

“You know…” Wade started.

 

Dean cut him off with a curt, “Not a word, Wilson” and sighed as their fingers entwined. 

 

“I love it when you’re so commanding.”

 

Dean gave Wade his best death glare, which was actually pretty feeble considering he was a demon. 

 

And holding his hand.

 

Alone.

 

With mood lighting.

 

A bubble of laughter made its way out of Dean’s mouth, and he just let it flow because Wade was laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the angst for a little bit. It hurt me to write this. I swear.


	17. The All Stars

The normal routines changed at the bunker, much to Sam’s delight. The “Ben Incident”, as Sam referred to it in his head, had set in motion some of the strangest behavior he’d ever seen in his brother. Dean was never an affectionate man, except for in extreme moments of emotional stress. Dying, fear of loss, reuniting. But the day following their jaunt to Michigan, Dean greeted him in the kitchen with a hug and a plate of fruit. 

 

It was disturbing. Not that he was being nice, but… No it was the nice thing. That was just weird. Dean being nice made Sam very nervous, like he expected something to happen. Like Nair in his shampoo (he tested before every shower), or itching powder in his boxers (he kept his underwear in a lockbox now). 

 

Wade, on the other hand, was relaxed in a way Sam had never seen him. He never wore the mask around the bunker. At all. He seemed very comfortable around the Winchester brothers. A comfort level that went a little too far, especially when Sam stumbled into the kitchen for a late night glass of water and found Wade sitting on the counter wearing only a lacy pink pair of women’s underwear while eating an apple and reading something on his tablet. 

 

Then there was Castiel. Castiel, who had always flitted in and out of their lives, now was staying in the room they’d prepared for him. After the Ben Incident, Castiel slept for days, waking only to eat a few scoops of peanut butter, then going directly back to bed in his old man pajamas. 

 

One week after the Ben Incident, everyone was up at a strangely early hour and sitting around the table eating breakfast together. Sam was lost in his amusement at how Wade and Dean silently communicated with each other via nudges and syrup as they prepared their pancakes. Wade cooked, which meant there was an excessive amount of pancakes, but Castiel was doing his part to help devour the stack, seeming to have his appetite back. Sam tried to be sensible, opting to top his with sliced strawberries and bananas. 

 

The only sound in the room was the soft sounds of chewing and silverware scraping the plates until the tune, “Play That Funky Music White Boy” started playing, and Wade fished his phone out of his pajama pants. His hairless eyebrow shot up, and he got up from the table, walking towards the library as he answered. 

 

Dean abandoned his pancakes after a couple minutes, and walked into the Library just as Wade was hanging up. 

 

“Something up?” Dean asked as he perched on the edge of the table. 

 

“That was…” Wade’s brow scrunched. “That was Logan. A friend...Well, friend is a pretty strong word. A dude I used to kill people with is more accurate.” When Dean said nothing, Wade shrugged, and said, “He wants my help on a job. Something in South America.”

 

“You leaving?” Dean said, a little more high pitched than he wanted. 

 

“Yeah,” Wade answered with a nod. “Guy needs my help. And really, I can’t pass up a chance to harass ol’ Wolvie. It’s sort of a long lost hobby of mine. Like knitting and painting my toenails. I need to start doing that again.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find the words to say that he wasn’t ready for Wade to leave. Or that he would miss their sparring sessions. And he for damn sure could not articulate his desire to cuddle with the guy, not even at gunpoint. 

 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. 

 

“You’re coming with me, right?” Wade said, a hopeful note in his voice. 

 

“Of course,” Dean said without hesitation. 

 

After snarfing down the last of the pancakes and explaining the situation to Sam and Castiel (who were absolutely NOT invited), Dean and Wade loaded up the Impala and headed to the rendezvous point, which was a field a couple hours away from the bunker. 

 

Dean felt a little bad for abandoning his brother, who looked somewhat like a kicked puppy when Wade told him no. But when Wade also explained that they weren’t going up against any kind of supernatural forces and were more than likely going to be dealing with regular human beings, Dean agreed with Wade that little brother should stay behind. Castiel didn’t say anything about what they were doing, even claimed that some of his brothers and sisters were in the area. 

 

It felt good to be back on the road again. Dean had a smile on his face as he sped along the highway. True, the downtime in the bunker had been enjoyable. But the idea of hitting the road and knocking some bad guy’s heads seemed like just what the doctor ordered. 

 

However, Dean had no idea what he was getting into as they pulled onto a side road next to a freshly baled field. 

 

Wade looked at his watch, and said, “Looks like we’re a bit ahead of schedule.”

 

Dean nodded and went to open the car door, when he felt Wade’s hand on his thigh. And no, that touch did not make his pulse jump. Not in the slightest. But it did make him pause and look back at his companion. 

 

“This is going to be dangerous,” Wade said, his voice soft. “These missions are not like the stuff you normally face. And Logan only calls me when the nice options are no longer an option. You get my meaning?”

 

“I’m no wilting flower, Wade,” Dean said with a smirk. “I can handle myself.”

 

Dean could see Wade’s smile through the mask. “Oh, I know you can, Chester.” 

 

That statement made Dean’s face heat up. Dean was never really went for guys--except for that one time in Phoenix, but that was when he was young and… It was actually pretty awesome, but he had pushed that out of his mind a long time ago. But suddenly, Dean was turning into a Wade-sexual. In fact, he was having the oddest thoughts about what it would be like to kiss the merc…

 

Next thing he knew, Wade was tugging him across the seat and kissing Dean with great enthusiasm. There was nothing timid about the way his mouth moved over the hunter’s. It took Dean a second to realize that he was kissing the merc through the mask. Dean grabbed the edge of the mask, pausing only a moment for Wade to give him a quick nod before peeling the offending fabric out of the way. 

 

Wade’s lips were rough against his, a sensation that seemed to go straight to Dean’s dick. He pulled the merc closer, tilting his head, licking into Wade’s mouth and letting out a groan feeling the slick slide of the merc’s tongue against his. It was sudden and frantic, and felt like absolute bliss that left Dean’s ears ringing.

 

Then Wade abruptly pulled away, his breath heavy and scarred face flushed as he tried to get some sort of control. Dean’s entire body was humming, and it was taking an inordinate amount of will to not dive back for more. 

 

But that was when he realized that the humming wasn’t just arousal. 

 

“That’s Wolvie,” Wade said, his voice all gravel and smoke. “Bastard always knows how to wreck my fun.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and scooted back to the driver’s seat, focusing on his breathing and his sincere desire to not get out of the car with a raging hard on. Wade didn’t seem to give a shit as he slipped on his mask and hopped out of the Impala with a sizeable tent in his spandex. 

 

Outside, an alien-looking stealth plane was making a slow descent, landing with a whisper in the field. Dean was still wrapping his mind around the high tech plane and his influx of hormones, when the ramp lowered and a short, burly man with wild hair and a cigar sticking out of his mouth appeared. 

 

Wade spread his arms, and shouted, “Logan! How’s it hangin’ buddy?”

 

Logan walked towards him, his face twisted in a scowl as he looked at the merc. “This ain’t a social call, bub. And I didn’t tell you to bring a date.”

 

“You called me ‘Bub’!” Wade said with a mock swoon. “Nobody calls me bub.”

 

“Can it!” Logan growled. He sniffed the air, and rolled his eyes. “Who’s the dick in the jacket?”

 

“That’s Dean Winchester,” Wade said with a broad smile. “He’s the Companion to my Doctor right now.”

 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get going.”

 

Dean followed Wade onto the Blackbird, feeling the narrow eyes of Logan on his back as he went. Once inside, Dean realized there were others on this excursion. One had a very distinct military look to him. Tall, broad shouldered, with a mess of dark hair and a metal arm with a star etched into the shoulder. There was a woman at the controls, also dressed in black, with flaming red hair and fierce eyes that narrowed when Dean and Deadpool entered their space. 

 

“Looks like they brought out the All Stars,” Wade said as he took the seat across from the man with the metal arm. “How’s it going, Bucky? Still setting the world on fire.”

 

“Fuck off, Deadpool,” the woman said, not taking her eyes off the controls. 

 

Logan sat beside Bucky, glaring at Wade. “This isn’t playtime, Wade.”

 

“I knew that when I saw the Widow,” he said, his voice sort of serious. “But I’m surprised you brought two mental patients on this trip.”

 

“Fuck you,” Buck said with a snarl. 

 

Wade leaned over to Dean, and said, “You might have heard of Bucky here before, but the news called him the Winter Soldier. Blew the hell outta New York a while back.”

 

“Not like you haven’t done the same a time or two,” Logan growled. “Cut the color commentary, bub.”

 

Wade cocked his head to the side. “What’s the story here, anyway? Why the killer’s reunion? Don’t tell me you’ve abandoned that non-violent thingy that Xavier shoved down your throat.”

 

“Desperate times,” Logan said, plucking his cigar out of his mouth. “This is one of those things that nice ain’t gonna cut it.” Logan eyed Dean, and said, “Why the hell do you stink so damn much? Smell like rotten eggs and bad cologne.”

 

“Sulfur,” Dean answered with a shrug.

 

“He’s got the mange,” Wade said with a smirk. “You should be able to sympathize.”

 

Eyes narrowed, Logan said, “Long as he can hold his own, I don’t give a damn.” He tossed Wade a folder full of satellite images of a compound in the middle of a jungle. “It’s started up again, Wade. Weapon X.”

 

Wade visibly stiffened. 

 

“Or at least something like it,” Logan continued. “Been snatching up mutants and other critters. Don’t know how long and don’t know how many. But whatever they’re doing, it can’t be good.” 

 

“So we go in, rescue the kids, take out the facility, make the bastards wish they were never born,” Wade said, an edge to his tone Dean had only ever heard when the merc had gone completely psychotic in Michigan. 

 

Logan nodded. “That’s the general idea. Figured you’d be just the man for the job.”

 

“Awww,” Deadpool said with a ghost of a smile. “You really know how to please a guy.”


	18. In the Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay getting this updated. Been kind of a busy, hectic, trying, sad, mournful, shitty couple of weeks for me. I hope this was worth the wait. Enjoy. :)

By the time the Blackbird touched down in the jungle, everyone on board had objectives in mind. Any force necessary to meet those objectives was considered acceptable. First and foremost, free the captives. Second, destroy the laboratory. And finally, any surviving members of the organization in charge were to be taken to S.H.I.E.L.D. to be questioned. 

 

It sounded like a simple plan. But that was before they got on the ground, and realized they were up against a very large group of mutants who were also being possessed by demons. The people in charge of the facility were prepared for any type of incoursion. There were angelic wards to keep out the host of heaven. There were dampening fields that suppressed communications. And a vertigo field that rendered the humans in the group so dizzy they fell into unconsciousness.

 

Dean wound up in a devil’s trap. Knight of Hell or no, he still had a few weaknesses. He made it as far as the laboratory doors, and walked right into it without even thinking that these assholes would know how to build one strong enough to hold him, or even build one at all. 

 

The entire lab was full of activity. People in scrubs and lab coats running around, gathering laptops and hard drives and files, doing the mad dash to evacuate. 

 

One of the doctors paused upon seeing an occupant in the trap, and shouted, “What are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be protecting us!”

 

“Just scratch the paint on the edge of this trap, and I’ll give you all kinds of protection,” Dean promised, his voice filled with rage. 

 

“I don’t think that would be wise,” another member of the labcoat brigade said. But this guy, he was different. The tingling sensation on Dean’s skin reminded him of Castiel, but there was something off about this guy that made the hunter certain that this was no angel. 

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you?”

 

“Just a humble scientist,” he said with an overly bleached smile. “But you… You are not someone I expected to walk into my lab, Mr. Winchester.” He paused, chuckling, before asking, “Or should I call you Sir Winchester? Being a Knight of Hell and all.”

 

At that moment, there was a scream from the opposite end of the lab as Wolverine dropped down from a ventilation shaft, his claws slicing through the necks of two of the lab techs. 

 

“Oh dear…” Captain White Teeth sighed. “Looks like I’m going to need to find a few new interns.” He looked back at Dean, edging closer to the trap. “I think it’s time I relocate before anything unpleasant happens.” There was a cry of agony from across the room, and he added, “Well, you know, to me.”

 

“Vetis!” came a shout from behind Dean. 

 

Wade sprang through the door, swiping his katana through the air, barely missing the neck of the scientist, who vanished with a rush of wind. Deadpool threw his swords with a guttural shout, taking out two nearby lab coats. Then pulled out his gun and started knee-capping everyone in sight. In less than 30 seconds from the moment the merc arrived, the entire room was down, mostly moaning in agony. 

 

Then the merc turned to Dean, his head cocked to the side, a snide smile under the mask. “Did somebody get stuck?”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Just break the damned trap.”

 

“Don’t worry, Chester. Unca’ Deadpool’ll take care of you,” he said as he pulled his katana from Bleeding Lab Henchman #2, and scratched the tip across the circle. Immediately, Dean felt the etheric chains fall away. “All better, sweetums?”

 

“Perfect, sugar lump,” Dean groused. 

 

“Quit flirting,” Logan growled as he strode across the mess. “We ain’t done yet. Widow says she found an underground chamber on the other end of the grounds.”

 

Wade and Dean followed behind Logan, who was following his nose through the tunnels, passing the unfortunate guards that Dean had dispatched on his way to the laboratory. Bucky was waiting for them by the door to the cells, looking exceptionally grim even for him.

 

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he said softly. 

 

The first thing anyone noticed was the stink. An acrid mix of urine, blood, sulfur, and the fetid stench of death. The occupants of the cells looked like corpses, though most of them were alive. Alive, meaning they had a heart beat. But none of them seemed to have much life in them. 

 

Some just sat on their ratty bed, eyes clouded and staring out at nothing. Others hugged themselves, rocking back and forth like a metronome. There were a few who mumbled incoherently, saying the same phrases over and over again. But the worst were the ones who were very active, shouting or screaming as they slammed their bodies into the walls and bars.

 

Here and there, sometimes inside cells with others, were the dead. Some were fresh enough to be bloated, while others were nearly completely devoured by insects, and Dean assumed, their starving cell mates.

 

In simplest terms, they were overused meatsuits. They had been possessed and put through a thousand torments, then thrown into a cell and left to rot. Dean had seen it many times with humans who had taken too much abuse while under a demon’s control. Humans usually died, but these poor bastards were not regular humans. Their bodies were different. The next evolution of humanity. Super beings.

 

Black Widow came out of one of the halls, and said, “I found another room.”

 

The room was another laboratory, much smaller than the one Dean found. The floor was littered with drooling bodies, their eyes vacantly staring at the floor where they dropped. They did not have the tang of sulfur on their skin. It was...something different. It reminded Dean vaguely of the tormented husks that archangels left behind.

 

This lab was not silent, though. It was filled with the moans and howls of anguish, issuing from glass-enclosed cubicles that contained beings of all sorts, all in various stages of live-dissection. There were mutants, some with strange skin and alien eyes. There were also supernatural creatures. Then, in the center of the laboratory, and obviously the most intensely studied judging by the amount of sensors and equipment surrounding the chamber, was an angel.

 

The blue glow of Grace flowed over the vessel (a male’s body), focusing around the areas that were pinned back. The angel’s chest was open, leaving its organs exposed. As Dean drew closer, he could see the Enochian symbols that bound the creature. Its eyes were burned out, and its mouth hung slack. It was not dead, but clearly it was in agony.

 

“Jesus,” Logan said, shaking his head.

 

Wade was silent, staring at one of the creatures that Dean figured to be some kind of vampire, though it had the musky scent of a shapeshifter. The creature was pinned down like a frog in biology class, eyes glassy and staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Jesus ain’t here,” Wade said softly. “We should put them out of their misery.”

 

Logan put a hand on the merc’s shoulder. “Let S.H.I.E.L.D. take care of it, Wade.”

 

“We’re going to kill that fucking bastard,” Deadpool growled. “We’re going to rip him apart. And this time, we’re going to make sure he can’t fucking come back.”

 

Dean nodded. Vetis needed to die. They’d played around enough. The demonic power inside the hunter was becoming natural for him to use. He didn’t need any more practice. “By the time we’re done with the sonofabitch, he’ll be wishing he was in Hell.”

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived shortly after, flooding the jungle compound with agents. Dean followed the rest of the team out of the cells, and found he was thankful to be in the clean air again. He needed a shower and a bottle of Hunter’s Helper, but for now he would settle for whatever comforts the Blackbird provided as he trailed behind Wade.

 

Wade was quiet the entire trek back, shoulders slumped and feet dragging like he was completely exhausted. Maybe he was, considering how many bullets ripped through him. But Dean knew it was much more than that. Wade was thinking about things he didn’t like to think about. And Dean was pretty much in the same boat.

 

On the Blackbird, Wade sat down on the bench seat with a heavy sigh, cradling his head in his hands. Dean sat beside him, giving him enough room to breath, but close enough so that neither of them felt alone. 

 

It had been an intense day, to say the very least. And it was far from over. Once Black Widow, Bucky, and Logan were back, they were informed that the next stop would be S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters in New York City to be debriefed. Wade smirked, but whatever snark he had about “debriefing” died on his tongue. He just didn’t have the energy. 

 

“Who was the guy in the laboratory?” Logan asked Wade after an hour of silence. “How do you know him?”

 

Wade took a deep breath. “Long story short, I cheated a demon. Not that I actually got anything out of it. But still. You should actually thank me. Tony Stark would be dead if not for my cunning brilliance.”

 

Logan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

 

“Like I said, it’s a long story. Ask Tony about it sometime,” the merc finished. “I thought the guy was gone. Dead. Should be dead. Or at least trapped in Hell. Can’t imagine Mephisto letting him go easily. But the bastard’s been on my trail for a little while now. That’s why Dean and I are working together.”

 

“And you’re a demon, right?” Logan said, giving a quick sniff. “I noticed the way those asshole’s stunk. Smell just like you.”

 

Dean could see the subtle movement of the adamantium claws beneath Logan’s skin, and he said, “I’m not like the demons that were there. I’m not possessing anybody. This is my body.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the red, raised Mark of Cain. “This mark is what made me a demon.”

 

“And that bone blade?” Logan asked.

 

“It’s called the First Blade,” Dean said, his fingers touching it under his jacket. “Originally owned by Cain, you know. From the Bible?” 

 

Logan rolled his eyes. “You really expect me to believe all this Demons and Hell bullshit?”

 

“You’ll never die, so why does it matter,” Wade said with a hint of derision. “I’ve died enough to know the place pretty well.”

 

“You think this Vetis guy is planning something?” Logan asked both of them.

 

Dean shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, but most Demons, especially the ones dealing in souls, are always working some kind of an angle.”

 

Logan was quiet for a moment, staring down at his hands as he flexed his fingers. Then he looked at Dean. “When we get to New York, don’t go disappearing. I think there’s a lot of people who need to know what you know about demons, especially after what we saw today. If there are demons targeting mutants, we need to know how to fight them. And…” he sighed, before adding, “How to fix the damage.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said with a nod. “I might need to call in a couple other experts.”

 

“Do whatever you have to do.” 

 

Everyone lapsed into silence, the only sound the soft hum of the Blackbird’s engines. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to approach Sam and Castiel about coming to New York. They hadn’t talked much about Dean and Wade’s mission to find Vetis, but after seeing the asshole face to face and knowing exactly what he was doing, Dean knew that he had to be stopped.


	19. Debriefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the part where I lose the teen audience....

Dean didn’t know what to expect when he got to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. Part of him worried he would end up in a cell, considering how long he spent on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, but instead, he and the rest of the group was taken to a conference room and presented with paperwork and a cup of coffee. 

 

Black Widow--Natasha--was very meticulous with the details. Bucky kept it short and simple, using very precise handwriting. Logan scribbled a few sentences in sloppy cursive. And Wade drew a short comic strip describing the events, then left the conference room without saying anything. 

 

Dean just stared at the papers for a few minutes before asking, “Is this really necessary? I don’t even work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“Neither do I,” Logan said with a grimace. He pulled a fresh cigar out of his silver case, and commenced to chewing on it. “Actually, bub, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What?”

 

“What’s the deal with you and Wade?” He leaned over the table, eyeing him menacingly. 

 

“He’s my friend,” Dean answered with a shrug. “Guess you could say we have mutual interests.”

 

“Uh huh.” Logan cocked his head to the side. “I looked up your file...According to official records, you’re dead. Been dead several times. First, after killing a dude in St. Louis. Then a few years back, you and your brother went on some kind of cross country killing spree.”

 

“Those were actually Leviathans that duplicated us,” Dean clarified.

 

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Uh huh.”

 

“We’ve all been there,” Natasha said with the barest hint of a smile. “Logan just doesn’t like people messing with his boyfriend.”

 

The glare Logan sent to the end of the table could have melted the polar ice caps. Natasha just raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow, and returned her attention to Dean, saying, “If you’re done with that, give it to Agent Willis at the desk by the elevator.”

 

Dean nodded and got up from his seat. Logan stopped him by the door, handing him a card emblazoned with an A-logo, with an address for Stark Tower. “What’s this?”

 

“Be there tomorrow morning, 8am.” Logan didn’t wait for further questions, just strode away. 

 

Natasha stacked her papers neatly, and said, “Welcome to the family.”

 

“Huh?” Dean asked, looking the card over. 

 

Wade appeared at the door, and asked, “You done?” 

 

Dean nodded, still looking at the card. “Yeah. I guess. Never been debriefed before.”

 

“Poor man,” Natasha said with no hint of humor as she drifted by.

 

Dean ignored the remark, and followed Wade down the hall to the elevators. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was operating as doorman, keying in the code that operated the lift, and the three began the descent to the street. It was a long ride.

 

Dean was quiet for a moment, before asking, “Do you know where Stark Towers is?”

 

“Kinda just down the road from here,” Wade said, looking at the card. “Why?”

 

“Logan said for us to be there tomorrow at 8am.” Dean handed Wade the card. 

 

Wade hummed a note. “Interesting. This will be the first time I’ve entered through the front door.”

 

After a couple minutes of silence, Dean leaned to Wade and asked, “Where are we going?”

 

“My place,” Wade answered, his voice a little husky. 

 

A little chill swept over Dean, the kind that made him turn strangely warm after. “Awesome. I didn’t know you had a place in New York.”

 

Wade shrugged. “It’s just where I store all my explosives.” He hesitated a moment before saying, “If you like, you can stay with me while we’re in town. A home away from home. Instead of a hotel, I mean. It’s not the most comfortable place in the world, but…”

 

“Of course,” Dean interrupted the merc's nervous rambling. “You’re the only one I know in this town.”

 

Wade raised an eyebrow. Even through the mask, Dean could see the mischief in his eyes as he asked, “That the only reason you want to stay with me, Chester?”

 

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shifted uncomfortably.

 

Dean’s face heated up. “Told you before, I’m not really into dudes.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” Wade said with a smirk. “You seemed pretty into dudes the other day in the Impala.”

 

“I, uh… Okay, that happened. But I’m…” Dean swallowed hard.

 

Wade leaned to Dean’s ear and whispered in a voice reserved only for sex lines, “I’ll be gentle with you, baby. Don’t worry.”

 

Dean was having a very hard time producing words, instead stuttering out, “I… um… you… I…”

 

Wade chuckled, and said, “You’re so damn cute when you’re flustered.”

 

Finally, the doors opened on the ground floor, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent breathed a sigh of relief as Deadpool and Dean left the elevator. 

 

Outside, the streets were busy. Dean felt slightly lost in all the commotion, but then Wade took him by the arm and led him down the sidewalk. A few minutes later, they were in a taxi making their way through the city. Wade gave Dean his “I Died There Once” tour, pointing out buildings and alleys where he’d fought all manner of creatures and villains. 

 

The rode to an industrial area, where there were several warehouses and abandoned factories. Wade had the cabby stop at a random street corner, paid him his fare, and they continued on foot for a few blocks.

 

Wade took a turn down one of the alleys, walking to a door near the back of an old warehouse with most of the windows broken out. The door, much to Dean’s surprise, was unlocked. Inside, the building was in ruins. Broken crates and pallets littered the floor and severed electric cable hung from the ceiling. Their destination was an area that was once the offices for the factory, but now served as Wade’s living quarters. This door was locked. 

 

The room they entered was full of padlocked crates and ammo boxes. Lots of ammo boxes. Some were stacked up and topped with a piece of plywood to make a table. Others were topped with pillows for chairs. The only real piece of furniture was a large recliner in front of an old TV, which was surrounded by food wrappers and empty pizza boxes. 

 

Wade walked through, shuffling debris out of the way. “Looks like the maid hasn’t been here. Damn slacker.” He made a quick turn, and said, “I can order a pizza or something, you can call your brother…”

 

“How about a shower?” Dean said.

 

“Shower sounds like a great idea,” Wade said with a smirk. 

 

Dean shook his head, and said with a laugh, “I meant alone.”

 

Wade wagged his finger in Dean’s face, and said, “Get your head outta the gutter, Chester. It’s multi-stall. You know, like gym class. There’s probably some clean clothes in my closet, if you’d like to get out of the jungle funk.”

 

The thought of wearing Wade’s clothes made Dean’s face heat up. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

 

Wade headed to the hall, motioning for Dean to follow him to the bedroom. The bed was a stack of mattresses on the floor with a couple milk crates making a bedside table, topped with only a blanket and two old and crushed lookin pillows. The closet was full of Deadpool uniforms, some with a few modifications. In the back corner was a rubbermaid container full of unopened packages of -shirts, pants, socks, and underwear. 

 

“You must not like laundry,” Dean said as he grabbed a package of each item. 

 

Wade shrugged. “Most of my stuff dies a bloody, horrible death. So I figure, better to have everything handy. It’s so awkward to go to Walmart when you’re bleeding from the head.”

 

“Oddly enough, I know what you mean.” 

 

“That’s why I love you, Chester,” Wade said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. 

 

Dean didn’t linger on that statement too much, following Wade to the shower room. There were six stalls, but only two actually had faucets and they were side by side. Only one of them had a curtain. 

 

Much to Dean’s shock, Wade started to undress without regard for others present. Dean turned his back and swallowed hard, trying to not think about the toned muscles of the merc’s chest and torso, or the heat the man was packing between his legs. It was not something he wanted to think about. Nor did he want to think about just how long he had watched the man undress before deciding to turn. 

 

Then he heard the squeak of the water coming on, and Wade started humming as the scent of flowers filled the air. And of course he chose the one without a curtain, because Wade, despite being so sensitive about his face, is somewhat of an exhibitionist about his body. 

 

Again, Dean couldn’t blame him. Even his ass was muscular, and Dean mentally kicked himself when he realized that he was again staring. He went into the curtained stall and shucked off his clothes and started the water. He did his best to not think about Wade lathering up a couple feet away, or how his mind kept picturing the merc’s hands roaming over his body. And sweet lord, why was he still thinking about his ass? 

 

And then there was the fact that suddenly Dean was rock hard, and despite the cover of the curtain, he was in the middle of an existential crisis. 

 

It did not help one little bit when Wade’s humming turned into singing “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show”, which Dean had never considered a sexy song. At least until he heard Wade’s deep tenor voice matched with the words.

 

“Hoooot August night, and the leaves hanging down, and the grass on the ground smellin...sweet.”

 

Dean focused really, really hard on using the bar of soap. It was taking a tremendous amount of effort to keep his hands on task and not touching his now throbbing cock. And if this wasn’t the oddest scenario he could ever imagine, he didn’t know what was. 

 

Then there was the sort of breathy sounds coming from the other stall, and Dean could easily imagine that Wade had a handful of his manhood, stroking in time to the beat of the song in his head. And yup, that image was right there in Dean’s brain, too real and too much, and he suddenly wanted to be far away from the merc and the sound of his voice and all that gorgeously scarred skin that he wanted to sink his teeth into…

 

“Fuck…” Dean whispered as he took his cock in hand, giving it a few rough strokes. Wade kept singing and Dean could feel his balls tightening as the merc belted out the chorus. His orgasm hit like a punch in the gut, and he let out a strangled sound as he spurted against the tile wall. 

 

Wade stopped singing. “You okay, Chester?”

 

Dean bit his lip and cleared his throat before answering, “I’m fine.” And damn did his voice sound wrecked. It took him a minute to come back to his senses, and by then he realized that Wade was out of the shower. 

 

“I’m gonna order a pizza. See ya in the livingroom,” Wade said as he walked away, seemingly oblivious to Dean’s bath-time activities. 

 

Dean turned the water over to cold.


	20. Nightmares

The first order of business after Dean had completely recovered from his sudden burst of hormones in the shower room, was to call Sam. His brother was full of questions about the mission and if everything was all right, so much so that Dean just sat quietly and waited for the kid to get it all out of his system, before informing him that Sam and Castiel needed to get to New York.

 

That stopped Sam in his tracks, and he was silent so long Dean wondered if the call had dropped. Cell service kind of sucked in the bunker at times. 

 

“Sammy?” he said gruffly.

 

“Uh, yeah. I’m here.” Sam again paused, and Dean could almost see the confusion on his face as he asked, “Why do we need to come to New York? Are you in trouble?”

 

“Not in trouble,” Dean said with a smirk. “They need a couple experts on demons, and really, who better than us?”

 

Sam cleared his throat. “Who needs experts?”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.” Dean loved hearing the surprise in Sam’s voice. “I can’t really get into the full details over the phone, but there’s some bad things happening. It’s a mix of angels and demons, and mutants and it’s not good. They need us. More specifically, they need you and Castiel. You guys are the brains.”

 

“I...Dean, I don’t know what to say.” There was a smile in his voice, as he said, “I’ll let Cas know. Um… His battery is still pretty low. I don’t know if he can actually zap us out there.”

 

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got two plane tickets reserved for you guys.” Dean read off the confirmation numbers from Wade’s laptop, then said, “Flight leaves at 4am. Once you get to New York, take a taxi to Stark Towers, and…”

 

“Stark Towers?” Sam blurted. “You mean like Stark Industries? Stark Tech?”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I guess so?”

 

“Do you have any idea who Tony Stark is?” Sam asked, his voice indicating just how close he was to having a complete nerdgasm over the phone.

 

“We’re meeting with a guy named Logan, so don’t get too excited about whatever you’re excited about,” Dean said, laughing. “But yeah. Get your stuff packed. And…” He looked around Wade’s living room, and said, “Don’t worry about weapons or anything like that.” 

 

“Okay.” Sam was smiling; Dean could hear it in his voice. “So, uh, where are you staying in New York?”

 

Dean’s jaw twitched. “Staying at Wade’s place.”

 

Sam giggled. Fucking giggled. “Nice. Does he have a comfortable bed?”

 

“I hate you, Sam,” Dean growled as he hung up the phone. Stupid little brothers with their stupid teasing. Dear god, if Sam knew the things that were going through Dean’s mind today, right now even as he watched Wade bend over to get into his mini-fridge to grab a beer with his low hanging yoga pants and skin-tight t-shirt that showed every contour of muscle and jut of bone… 

 

All those times he called Sam a girl were going to come back to bite him in the ass. Dean knew this. Dean deserved this. 

 

Wade walked to the makeshift living room and handed Dean a beer before plopping down in the beat up recliner. “How’s little Sammy and Cas?” he asked after a sip. 

 

“Fine,” Dean managed to croak out. He sounded tense, a little too tense. 

 

So tense, Wade noticed it. “You okay, Chester? You seem a little…”

 

“I’m fine,” Dean growled. He stared down at the beer, feeling kind of like an asshole for snapping. It’s not Wade’s fault that Dean lost control of himself in the shower. Nothing had happened between them that Dean wasn’t fully on board with. Even the thing in the Impala, Dean was an active participant. 

 

For a moment, Wade’s eyes turned distant, and his smile turned sort of sad. And Dean found himself asking, “You okay?”

 

“Just thinking,” he said before taking another gulp of his beer. “Sometimes, you really remind me of this guy I knew once. Nate. He… You could say he always felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes, it really is all on my shoulders.”

 

“Yeah.” Wade nodded. “Same way with Nate. Dude was from the future. Literally. He came back in time to sort of fix some shit that went wrong and led to a lot of bad during his time.” Wade smiled softly, eyes looking to the past. “We... He was the only person who could make the voices shut up.” 

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t heard them in a while.”

 

“Like I said, you remind me of him.” Wade shrugged, then finished off his beer. Dean wanted to ask more questions about “Nate”, because the way Wade looked, he was certain they were more than just friends. Not that he was jealous of that fact. Just curious. 

 

But before he could ask, the doorbell rang, and Wade put on his mask, and made his way through the warehouse to pick up the pizza. 

 

The look in Wade’s eyes was all Dean could think about. The way they sort of lit up when he mentioned this other guy. And the oddest thought popped into Dean’s head that he wanted to light up the merc’s eyes too.

 

That thought made his cheeks burn and his heart pound a little, because he wasn’t the kind of guy who thought about things like that. He was the King of one night stands. He wanted the girl at the bar who just wanted to get off and get him out the door. That was as much of a relationship as he could handle because his life was too complicated otherwise. The thing with Lisa was a half-hearted effort at best, and he only did it because he promised Sam to give “real life” a try. It didn’t work. Would never work.

 

It probably would never work with Wade either. Dean was trapped in an uncertain limbo, somewhere between human and demon, living and dead. There was a lot of uncertainty. He felt lost and drifting (when he wasn’t feeling homicidal). But Wade had a very soothing effect, maybe because the guy actually understood Dean’s impulses, and didn’t shy away. Just like Dean didn’t shy away from Wade’s scars or the voices in his head.

 

He was so lost in his own thoughts, Dean didn’t hear the door when Wade came in, and jumped when the merc dropped the box on the table. 

 

Wade lifted the lid, and inhaled deep, letting out an appreciative noise that made Dean break out in goosebumps. And Dean had to bite back a whimper at the practically orgasmic moan the merc made upon taking his first bite.

 

“This…” Wade said, holding up the slice, “This is the one and only thing I’ve missed about this shithole. Ozone’s has the best damn pizza in the borough. No offense to the Pizza Hut of Lebanon, but seriously. Try this.”

 

Dean drifted over to the table and picked up a giant slice, and took a bite. His eyes went wide, and he felt like he’d just found a piece of his soul that was missing. No wonder Wade was moaning like a porn star. It was so good, that despite Dean originally not feeling hungry, he had a second slice. Wade ate the rest of the pizza, letting out a satisfied belch.

 

“I don’t know about you, Chester, but I’m beat,” Wade said with a yawn for emphasis. 

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a busy couple of days.”

 

“Yeah.” Wade looked around the room, frowning at the cushions that made his sitting surfaces. He scratched the back of his head, and said, “I only have the one bed…”

 

“I noticed,” Dean said. 

 

“I can stay on my side if you can,” the merc said with a grin.

 

Dean laughed, feeling heat rising on his face. “I… Yeah. I can do that.”

 

A few minutes later, after Wade dug another blanket out of the closet and dusted off a pillow from the living room, the two were laying on opposite sides of the stack of mattresses. Dean was on his back with his arms at his sides, hands balled into fists. Wade lay on his stomach facing Dean, snuggled under his blanket, leg cocked out so that his knee was only a couple inches from Dean’s side. 

 

It shouldn’t have felt awkward, Dean reasoned. Considering how many nights the two of them had ended up sleeping together on the couch or that one time in the kitchen. But that was because of circumstances, like nightmares and too many pancakes in front of the TV. They always started out in separate beds, and never slept in a bed together. 

 

And Dean had never pounded one out while thinking about the merc either. That was still very fresh in his mind, along with the muscular vision that was Wade’s astounding ass and legs and body. And fuck, Dean was getting hard again. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing. Deep breath, 1… 2… 3… 4…, exhale 1… 2… 3… 4…

 

“Chester?” came Wade’s sleep-deepened voice. 

 

Dean bit his lip, feeling all progress fly out the window. “Yeah?”

 

He huffed a laugh. “Anyone ever tell you you think too loud?”

 

A nervous laugh escaped Dean’s lips. His hands were still fisted at his side. “Sorry. I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

 

Wade rolled onto his side and held out his arm, and said, “Come here.”

 

Dean didn’t move. “Huh?”

 

The merc let out a long suffering sigh and scooted closer, close enough he could rest his hand on Dean’s chest, Wade’s face pressed into the side of the hunter’s pillow. He rubbed his hand over the tensed-up muscles of Deans chest, moving to his arm in a slow, gentle path. At first, Dean did not relax. But after a couple minutes, his entire body seemed to melt into the mattress. Eventually, he rolled towards the other man, and Wade’s hand drifted down Dean’s side, sliding to his back. 

 

It was actually very soothing. Relaxing. Comfortable, even. There was no demand in the touch, no request for reciprocation. Yet, Dean’s hands found their way to Wade’s chest, feeling the texture of scar-covered muscle beneath the thin, tight fabric. 

 

Then their mouths met in a brief brush of lips, almost chaste. Each returning again and again, lingering longer, slow and lazy and relaxed. Where before his mind was whirling with anxiety, Dean’s mind was gloriously blank. It felt good to kiss Wade, natural as breathing. There was no urgency, no push for more. Wade’s hands continued their slow path, tracing Dean’s sides and skimming up and down his spine. 

 

At some point, both of them drifted off to sleep with their limbs tangled around each other, foreheads resting together. 

 

Wade woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. His heart was pounding, his body shaking. Though whatever nightmare had been in his mind, he could not remember what it was about. Sometimes, not remembering was worse than knowing because that’s when the paranoia hit. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as if that would somehow scrub away the discomfort.

 

He was about to get up when he felt movement behind him. He jumped up out of bed, a gun in his hand as he wheeled around with the hammer cocked. Wade was a fraction of a second from pulling the trigger, halted only by the soft whimpering noise coming from the bed. 

 

Then he remembered. Dean. The cuddling. Kissing. Dean was in his bed. And from the sound of it, the hunter was struggling with his own night time hell. 

 

With a shudder, Wade released the air from his lungs, and uncocked the revolver. He returned to the bed, sitting down as gently as possible not wanting to startle Dean awake, even as his own heart still thundered in his chest. Carefully, he snuggled up to the hunter’s back, looping an arm around his waist, his forehead resting against the back of Dean’s neck.

 

Softly, he started singing, “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad…” It was meant to comfort Dean, but in all reality, it was more of a comfort to the merc. Sometimes just hearing a voice, even his own, made the world feel more real. There were many times when he was in the Workshop, even on the operating table, that he would sing whatever song that came to mind, just because it helped to pull him out of the torture, even if it just made the doctors laugh.

 

Wade Wilson didn’t go crazy over night. It was a process that took years of torment and brain washing, mixed with sensory overload and sensory deprivation. He was thrown back and forth between extremes, and in the meantime he slowly split into pieces. That’s why he started to believe that it was all just a story, and somewhere out there some sadistic writer was slowly spinning his world into further madness and tragedy. Once upon a time, that was a comforting thought.

 

His arms tightened around Dean, who was now breathing slow and deep, again sleeping peacefully. Wade wasn’t the type to pray, even before Weapon X, but in that moment, he silently begged the writers that this story arch didn’t end with disappointment and another broken heart.


	21. The Meeting

Dean was the first to wake in the morning, finding himself wrapped in muscular arms with Wade pressed up against his back. He was warm and comfortable, hovering in that fuzzy space between sleep and full wakefulness. His mind was full of thoughts of last night, the lazy kissing and gentle touches. He would never, ever admit out loud how much he enjoyed it or how much he sometimes ached for such tender human contact. 

 

“You’re thinking again,” Wade’s voice rumbled at his back.

 

Dean couldn’t suppress the smile. “Most people don’t think I think at all.”

 

“I think you think more than you think,” Wade replied.

 

Dean laughed softly. “I think you’re probably right.”

 

Wade’s arm tightened, pulling Dean against him as he whispered in the hunter’s ear, “I know I’m right, Chester.” 

 

And god, his voice… Dean rolled onto his back and found Wade’s lips in the near dark of the early morning. What started lazy and soft, slowly turned more insistent and probing. Tongues tasting, mouths roaming down each other’s necks. Hands pulled at shirts and dipped into the back of Dean’s sleep pants. There was also the fact that Wade Junior was up too, pressing into Dean’s thigh.

 

What was turning out to be a wonderful way to wake up was cut short by the sound of the alarm clock blaring into the room. It was 7:00, and they had an appointment at Stark Towers. 

 

“Thwarted again,” Wade grumbled, giving Dean one last kiss before getting out of bed and heading to the restroom. 

 

Dean got up and went to the closet, and found a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a longsleeved plaid shirt in Wade’s stash of clothes. If they stayed in New York for every long, Dean was going to need to find a clothing store or a Walmart. He couldn’t wear his boyfriend’s clothes all the…

 

“Oh shit,” Dean gasped, realizing the word that his mind had supplied for Wade. Boyfriend? Really? Am I fucking 13? I’m going to break out in acne any minute now. Fuck…

 

Wade came back in the room, snapping Dean out of his thoughts as he dug around in the closet for one of his Deadpool uniforms. Again, Wade stripped in front of him. Though Dean tried to not stare, he couldn’t help but enjoy watching the transformation. Not many people can pull off skin tight spandex and still look formidable. After snapping his belt into place and adjusting the straps, pouches, and holsters, Wade is in full Deadpool mode. 

 

“So, uh, how are we getting to Stark Towers?” Dean asked as they walked towards the front room. “Taxi?”

 

“Teleport,” Wade answered with a smile. “Got my battery charged last night.” He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and asked in a husky voice, “You ready?”

 

Dean nodded, and the world shifted around him. Dizzy, he fell against Wade which was like falling into a brick wall. He gripped the merc’s arm until the vertigo passed. When he finally managed to look around, he was amazed by the futuristic building. Everything was made of glass and metal, with towering ceilings and gleaming surfaces. 

 

There were several office workers who stared at the two. Admittedly, they had every right to, considering that Dean and Wade had popped into existence with a snap. Probably not something they saw every day. But then Dean saw Logan walking their direction with his claws out, and he wondered if maybe he was wrong. These people were probably used to odd things popping in and out of the building.

 

Still, there was a substantial amount of fear in their eyes. 

 

“Don’t worry, everyone,” Deadpool said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I was actually invited here today. No need to press the panic button.”

 

Right on cue, a group of security guards came running out of everywhere, weapons drawn and pointed at Dean and Wade. Dean pressed his back against the merc’s, and said, “I don’t think they got the memo.”

 

“Wanna have some fun?” Wade said over his shoulder. “Pretend to be my hostage.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed, then went wide when out of no where, Iron Man dropped from the air, landing in a kneeling pose a couple feet away from Dean.

 

“Holy shit!” the hunter shouted, stumbling backwards into Deadpool, who laughed a little too maniacally. 

 

Deadpool spread his arms, and shouted, “Tony! Long time, no repulsor burns. How’s things?”

 

Iron Man stood, and his electronic voice sounded amazingly annoyed. “Why are you in my building, Wilson?”

 

“We were invited,” he said proudly, an obvious grin under the mask.

 

Logan parted the group of security guards, and said, “It’s okay, Stark. I invited them. These are our new ‘consultants’.”

 

Tony barked a derisive laugh. “What do we need a consultant for? How to be dysfunctional psychopaths? I thought that’s what the S.H.I.E.L.D. headshrinkers were for.”

 

Wade’s voice had an edge to it when he snapped back, “Guess they were successful making you a functional alcoholic.”

 

“Wade!” Logan shouted. He glared at the merc, then turned his menacing eyes to Iron Man, and declared, “Enough.”

 

The golden mask slid back, and Tony glared at Wade, and said, jabbing a finger his direction, “You get out of line, and I will end you, Wilson.”

 

“Oh, Tony,” Wade said, clasping his hands together and doing a little twirl. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, and to Logan said, “I’ll be in the meeting room,” before taking off up through the building. 

 

With all the commotion since his their arrival, Dean hadn’t noticed that in the lobby among all the interns and office workers, was Sam and Castiel. They were both dressed in their best black suits, though Cas’ hair still looked like he just rolled out of bed. Sam had that sort of wide-eyed, what-the-fuck look on his face as he crossed through the slowly dispersing security guards to where Dean and Deadpool were standing.

 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said with a grin, giving him a slap on the back. 

 

Sam looked around, and asked, “What the hell was that all about? Who...What was that?”

 

“That was your hero,” Dean said, dripping sarcasm. “Real douche bag if you ask me.”

 

Logan stepped up, looking like a dwarf next to Gigantor Winchester. He held out a hand, and said, “You must be the little brother.”

 

Sam shook his hand, and said, “Yeah. Sam Winchester.”

 

“Logan,” was all he answered. He looked at Castiel, who stared back with the same level of intensity. “And you are?”

 

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel answered.

 

“Right.” Logan put a cigar in his teeth, and said, “Follow me.”

 

They walked to a secured elevator, and Logan entered his passkey. As they ascended up into the tower, Wade started giggling. After a few seconds, Logan said, “Wanna let everyone in on the joke, bub?”

 

“A demon, an angel, two immortals, and a sasquatch walk into an elevator,” Wade said, still snickering. “There’s a punchline somewhere. Just give me a minute.”

 

“Why did I ask…” Logan grumbled with a shake of his head. 

 

Dean muffled a laugh, as he said, “The demon says, Going down. The angel says, going up.”

 

“The immortals are just along for the ride,” Wade added.

 

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “The sasquatch wouldn’t go anywhere, because the sasquatch does not exist.” Dean and Wade snickered, then burst into laughter when Castiel looked up at the younger Winchester, and said, “Sorry Sam.”

 

Sam patted Cas on the shoulder, and said, “It’s okay.”

 

The lift stopped, and doors opened to reveal a tall, broad, blond man wearing a red cape. His eyes landed on Deadpool and lit up. 

 

“Sir Deadpool!” He roared in a big voice. He threw his arms around the merc, and Wade let out a strangled yelp, as the man continued, “It has been long since we last embraced in single combat!”

 

“Missed you too, Thor,” Wade said, his feet dangling in the air. 

 

Sam and Dean looked at each other, both mouthing, “Thor?”

 

Thor released the merc, and beamed a smile at Castiel. “I can smell the dust of heaven upon you, Celestian. Hast thou been long upon the Earth?”

 

Castiel smiled, and said, “You speak Enochian beautifully.”

 

It just sounded like regular English to Sam and Dean. 

 

“The Asgardian tongue is heard by all ears as their native speech, dear friend.” Thor threw an arm around Castiel, and said, “Pray, tell me, are thou a warrior like most of thy kin?”

 

“I have an angel blade,” Castiel responded, looking at Thor with a furrowed brow. 

 

Deadpool looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You ever see his angel blade?”

 

“I’m not going to walk into that one,” Dean said with a laugh. 

 

Thor looked at Sam, and for a moment he appeared to be sizing him up. Then he said, “You have carried Mjolnir?”

 

“Uh...Once,” Sam said, almost wincing. “It, uh, kinda was at this auction for pagan artifacts.”

 

“Then you must be a great and worthy man,” Thor said with a firm slap to Sam’s shoulder. Sam looked down, and sure enough, the mythical hammer was hanging at Thor’s side. 

 

“Hey!” Logan growled, getting everyone’s attention. “Quit petting the Winchesters. We’ve got things to do.”

 

For a big guy, Thor could throw out an epic pouty face. 

 

He caught up to Logan, and everyone else followed the two to a large meeting room. Tony Stark, Natasha, Bucky, and several others were all ready waiting. 

 

And what an illustrious group it was. The Hulk (Bruce Banner) was sitting beside Tony in his non-angry-scientist form. Thor took a seat between him and Hawkeye. Beside Hawkeye was the Falcon, Sam Wilson (no relation, Wade quickly explained). At the head of the table was none other than Captain America, Steve Rogers. To his immediate right was Professor Xavier. Logan stood beside the Professor, looking ready to claw anyone who came near. 

 

The Professor was the first to speak. “First, I would like to extend my gratitude to the team who liberated the mutants. It pains me to know that such a tragedy happened. Even worse, is the knowledge that this is not the first time mutants have been used in such barbaric ways. And I fear it will not be the last.”

 

Deadpool shifted nervously in his seat, and Dean put his hand on the merc’s arm under the table. Wade stilled, glancing Dean’s direction. 

 

“It is my understanding,” Captain Rogers started, “...that the people holding and experimenting on these mutants were demons?” 

 

Everyone turned to look at Dean, who stuttered out, “Y-yes. That’s, uh, that is what they were. Possessed, that is. By demons.”

 

“We’ve dealt with a lot of things, but never demonic possession,” Rogers continued. “We need you to tell us everything you know about dealing with this kind of paranormal threat.” Everyone looked at Dean expectantly.

 

“Uh…”

 

Sam cut in. “It’s not something you can explain in a single afternoon, Captain Rogers. We’ve spent a lifetime gathering knowledge.”

 

Stark laughed, and leaned over the table, his eyes fixed on Sam’s. “You’re not talking to a bunch of dumb redneck’s with rock-salt guns.”

 

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark, neither are you,” Sam said in a level tone. “Rock salt won’t kill a demon. It’s a band aide that might save your ass in a pinch. Our main weapon against demons is exorcism, but not every demon can be exorcised. Higher level demons can only be killed with heavenly weapons and very complex rituals, where one wrong word or one wrong symbol means death for the host or death for the hunter.”

 

The Professor held up his hand, stopping Tony from saying anything further. “Mr. Winchester, the people who were recovered from the jungle have been severely damaged by their ordeal. Do you know of anything that can help to cure their minds?”

 

Castiel cleared his throat, and said, “I can gather my brothers and sisters to aide you, Professor.”

 

“And you are?” the Professor asked.

 

“I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.”

 

The Professor had a soft smile on his face as he said, “Your mind feels like sunlight on a cloudy day, Castiel.”

 

Castiel grinned, feeling the brush of the Professor’s mind inside of his. “And you are a very exceptional human being, Professor Xavier.”

 

“Any assistance your celestial siblings may provide with be greatly appreciated,” the Professor said. Then he turned his attention to Sam. “And you, young man. If you would be willing, I would like to read your mind. Perhaps I can absorb some of your knowledge and pass it along to my associates, to speed the process of learning.”

 

Sam looked at Castiel, and Cas gave a nod. Sam said, “Okay. Sure. Anything to help.”

 

The Professor nodded, and said, “If you would accompany me to my institute, it would be much easier for me to read you without so many distractions.”

 

Sam nodded. 

 

Bruce spoke up next. “I’ve been looking over the blood work of the mutants from the detention camp. There is a fundamental shift in their metabolic rate, post possession. It would be interesting to examine someone who is currently under possession, to see if there are any other means, outside of the methods used by the Winchesters, to combat the possessing entity.”

 

Dean cleared his throat, and said, “Uh, Dr. Banner? I’m…” It was harder than it should be to say the words, but considering it put him on the enemy list, his hesitation was understandable when he finally said, “I’m a demon.”

 

“I’ve seen the black eyes,” Natasha said smoothly. “He’s the real deal.”

 

The Professor studied him, and Dean could feel the push of telepathy against his mind. After a moment, he cocked his head, and said, “I’m amazed I did not realize it before.”

 

Banner leaned forward and asked, “How long have you been under this entity’s influence?”

 

“About six months,” Dean answered, starting to become very nervous from the looks he was receiving. 

 

“Dean is not your average demon,” Sam said, defending his brother. “He’s different.”

 

“Would you mind joining me in the lab today?” Banner asked. “I just want to take some readings. Shouldn’t take long.”

 

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

 

Wade’s leg started shaking again. In fact, his whole body was shaking. It was subtle, but with Dean’s hand resting on him, he could feel every shiver that swept through the merc’s body. He didn’t like the idea of Dean going to Banner’s lab. Picturing Dean hooked up to machines and strapped to a table was enough to make Wade’s anxiety spike. And when Wade was anxious, he could be very dangerous. 

 

The rest of the meeting was a blur for the merc, who only heard a few snippets here and there of conversation. Something about Tony examining weapons, and Thor was laughing about something Logan said, and Sam was giddy. Meanwhile everything was turning black for the Merc, and there was a niggling sensation in his brain that made his arms twitch and he wanted to hurt someone.

 

He put his head in his hands, squeezing his skull as if that would help shut down his fear of Dean becoming trapped in some mad scientist’s lab. It was times like this he usually ended up blowing his brains out. He’d lost count of how many times he’s taken that particular route. But he wasn’t worried about himself this time, and that kept him from grabbing his handgun.

 

“Wade?” came Dean’s voice.

 

Wade looked up and realized that the meeting room was empty except for the two of them, and judging by the tone of Dean’s voice, this wasn’t the first time he’d said the merc’s name. He laughed nervously, and said, “Sorry. Guess I drifted out there for a minute.”

 

“I’m gonna be fine,” Dean said, cutting straight to the heart of the problem. “If you want, you can come with me, okay? Be my bodyguard?”

 

“Yeah,” Wade agreed with a nod. “I’d prefer that.”

 

Dean gave Wade’s shoulder a soft squeeze, and said, “Me too.”


	22. Interruptions

Banner’s lab was located in Stark Towers. It was bright and spacious, with a wall of floor to ceiling windows with a beautiful view of the city. Everything was made of very tough stuff. Thick glass, heavy tables, and steel doors that slid down to trap him in, in the event the “other guy”--as the shy scientist referred to the Hulk--made an appearance. Every available surface was covered with test tubes and elaborate lab equipment. The shelves were filled with containers of various chemicals and solutions in a variety of bright colors. It was well lit, both with over head and natural light. Not confining.

 

No matter what, Wade hated it. He’d met the Hulk on several occasions, but the merc couldn’t remember if he’d ever met the little nerdy guy before. The Hulk was all power and smash, which was something he understood completely. But the scientist that composed the monster made Wade far more nervous.

 

Dean was fairly relaxed, and did his best to project confidence to try to allay Wade’s fears. The hunter was never much of a fan of doctors and hospitals either, but he didn’t think that Bruce was going to do anything that would be considered inappropriate. It was very clear, however, that Wade was going to take his bodyguard duties very seriously.

 

“Just take a seat on the table over there,” Banner said as he went to a sealed cabinet. Dean did as was asked, Wade staying dutifully at his side as Bruce retrieved several syringes and containers, along with a stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, oxygen detector, and thermometer. 

 

Dean rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Mark. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, eyes fixed on the raised scar. “That is a very peculiar looking brand.”

 

“It’s called the Mark of Cain,” Dean said as Bruce wrapped his arm in the blood pressure cuff. “It is how I became a demon.”

 

He pumped up the cuff to the point Dean’s arm felt like it was going to pinch off, and Bruce hummed as he stared at the readings. “Blood pressure’s pretty high. Did you have an issue with that before becoming a demon?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Dean said honestly. “They don’t exactly require regular physicals to be a hunter.”

 

“Temperature is a little high, too,” Bruce said after running the thermometer across his head and slipped the oxygen detector onto Dean’s finger. He frowned. “Your oxygen levels are very low. Your heart rate is incredibly high. If you were just human, I would demand you be admitted to the hospital.”

 

“Gotta start taking better care of you,” Wade said, giving Dean a nudge. 

 

Dean frowned, remembering the things Chuck had said about Sam when he was fighting Lillith. The prophet had described it as going full-Vader. 

 

“Most of the mutants are suffering from some type of heart or blood disorder, post-possession,” Bruce said as he scrubbed an alcohol pad over the crux of Dean’s arm. “I’m starting to wonder if this is some sort of ‘sentient pathogen’.”

 

Wade tensed as the needle slipped into Dean’s arm, his hand twitching towards his handgun. Dean gave the merc a half smile as blood started to fill the first of several vials. 

 

“Very dark,” Bruce said, studying the blood. “How’s your appetite? Do you eat much?”

 

Dean shrugged his unoccupied shoulder, and said, “I eat usually once a day. Sam and Wade make me drink something.”

 

Bruce nodded, glancing up at Wade with a half smile. He was on his fourth vial. “Most of the mutants the medical team has dealt with claimed that their bodies were operated mostly without food or water during their possession.”

 

“This body is my body. And I do my best to maintain it.” Dean sighed, watching his blood flow into the vial. “The idea of having to possess someone else is kinda skeevy.”

 

“That is actually very comforting,” Bruce said with a nervous laugh. “Are there other demons like you? I guess I mean, are there other good guys?”

 

Dean thought about Meg. Sam told him about her sentimental thoughts of Castiel, how the angel was her “unicorn”. Had Crowley not killed her, he imagined she probably would have found a way to stay good. Or at least, as good as she could get. “There may be a few, but how many, I can’t tell you. Before the Mark, there were several times I had to work with them. It usually ended with stabbing.”

 

Bruce pulled the needle from Dean’s arm, and pressed a piece of gauze over the bubble of blood. “Perhaps it has something to do with the person prior to possession?”

 

Dean shook his head. “No. It has everything to do with the entity possessing.” Dean took a deep breath. “In Hell, souls are tortured until there is no humanity left, and whatever humanity there is, fills them with so much hate that they just want to hurt other humans.” He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice as he said, “I know from experience that what comes back from Hell isn’t… it’s not… they…”

 

Wade squeezed his shoulder, leaning into him slightly. He was never good at comforting people, at least not regular people. But torture, torment, mind-robbing insanity, that was something he understood. Something with which he could sympathize. 

 

“They’ll do anything to get out of Hell,” Dean finally said, feeling a different kind of warmth sweep through him. “Even if it means they have to do some really sadistic shit to do it.”

 

“And what about you?” Bruce asked gently. 

 

Dean forced a humorless smile, and said, “Cain didn’t give me the Mark because I wasn’t a killer.”

 

Bruce just nodded, and carried his samples over to one of the lab stations, where he started a file for Dean. While Bruce was occupied, Dean looked up at Wade, and said, “That wasn’t so bad.”

 

“Yeah. I guess,” Wade said solemnly. “I think we need to get out of here, before the doctor decides to do some kind of mad scientist mojo on you.”

 

“I’m not going to experiment on Mr. Winchester,” Bruce said with a hint of annoyance. “My only interest is helping people, and as I recall, I have helped you a time or two as well, Wade.”

 

“Not willingly,” Wade grumbled. “You smashed me. A lot.”

 

Bruce looked at him over his glasses, and said, “You didn’t ask nicely.”

 

“Touche,” Wade said with a shrug. 

 

“What else do you have planned?” Dean asked as he stood. “You said some scans and whatever, right?”

 

“Yes, but I need to do the blood work first so I can calibrate the machines.” Bruce took off his gloves, and said, “If you want to come back in a couple hours, we can continue then?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll, uh…”

 

“Breakfast?” Wade said, a hopeful note in his voice. “There’s an awesome mexican food cart near here. Great breakfast burritos. And sauce. Seriously, best…”

 

Dean put a hand on Wade’s arm to stop the forthcoming ramble, and said, “Breakfast sounds awesome.” 

 

Once the laboratory door closed, both Dean and Wade breathed an audible sigh of relief. Dean was shaking because he didn’t like to talk about Hell. He didn’t plan on Banner asking so many questions. And Wade… Wade just hated being in that environment. 

 

They stayed in contact as they walked, their shoulders touching, hands brushing against each other. By the time they made the long trek to the elevators, both were much more relaxed. Relaxed enough that Wade pulled Dean into the men’s room. 

 

Dean pulled Wade’s mask off, taking his mouth with lips, tongue, and teeth. Wade crushed Dean against his body, enveloping in his massive arms. All the nightmares vanished away in a haze of hormones and roaming hands. 

 

And it all came to an abrupt halt with the clearing of a throat.

 

Wade and Dean turned to see Hawkeye standing by the opened door of one of the stalls, eyebrow raised. Deadpool quickly pulled his mask on. Dean’s face was burning. 

 

Hawkeye just walked to the sink and washed his hands, then walked out of the restroom, shaking his head. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Wade blurted, sadly. “I should know better. This… This shouldn’t be happening.”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What shouldn’t be happening?”

 

“You and me.” He sighed heavily. “They’ll never take you seriously, and it’s my fault.”

 

“Wade, I…”

 

“No.” Wade cut him off. “This was a bad idea.”

 

“What was a bad idea?” Dean asked. “You can’t be serious, man. Like I give a fuck what any of these douche bags think. The only ones who aren’t looking down their noses at us is Logan and Natasha. Fuck Hawkeye. Fuck Tony Stark. Fuck the goddamn Avengers!”

 

Wade cocked his head to the side. “You mean that?”

 

“Look, Wade,” Dean said, resting his hands on the merc’s shoulders, staring into the white eyes of the mask. “You are my friend, and whatever it is that’s going on between us… It’s a new thing for me, okay? But I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. And if someone has a problem with what we do together, then that’s their fucking problem. Not ours.”

 

“I just don’t want anything about me hurting you,” Wade said in earnest. “I don’t have many friends because bad things tend to happen to people around me. And sometimes, I AM the bad thing that happens.” He frowned under the mask. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

 

Dean sighed. He’d heard this speech before, only he was the one giving it. He took a deep breath, trying to formulate what he was about to say. He didn’t want to get it wrong, because getting it wrong would mean Wade might not be in his life any more, and that thought was pretty scary. 

 

“Wade…” He started, then took a deep breath and again lifted the mask from the merc’s face, looking into his big brown eyes that were so uncertain, so sad. “I can’t promise that nothing will ever happen to me. But I do know that when bad things happen, there’s no one else I’d rather have fighting by my side.”

 

For a moment, Wade just stared into Dean’s eyes. Then a smile bloomed across his scarred lips, and he said, “Damn, Chester. You really know how to sweet talk a guy.”

 

“Shut up, Wade,” Dean said with a laugh in his voice, as he pulled the merc into another kiss. 

 

Wade melted into it, all of his anxieties flying out the window. He relished the way they felt together, and hoped that this feeling would last for a very long time.

 

They left the restroom a couple minutes later. Dean’s skin was flushed and lips swollen, and he didn’t give a damn about the looks he got from people he passed. Did not matter. Fuck them. He was the Knight of Hell, and if he chose to spend a few minutes making out with the Merc with a Mouth like a teenager, then that’s what he was going to do. 

 

Castiel and Sam were standing by the elevator, and after a couple minutes of waiting, the four of them started the descent to go get some breakfast. It was a good day for the Winchesters, Dean decided. Their work was being taken seriously. Sam was being valued for his giant brain. Castiel was getting the chance to help people again. Wade was relaxed at his side. Dean was happy. 

 

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind, Dean felt a strange sensation. It was like static electricity that crackled under his skin, followed by an almost weightless feeling. Then suddenly, he was being pulled away out of the lift. Out of reality and into a void that seemed to go on and on forever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I hope you all loved the fluff while it lasted. :)


	23. Five Minutes Without Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn, there's a bit of self-harm/self-loathing here.

Five minutes without Dean, and Wade was starting to lose it. Nothing that anyone was saying was making him less anxious. Dean had explained to him once about the whole summoning-a-demon thing, and that it could be done to him. But what didn’t make sense is that Sam and Castiel couldn’t summon him back. They did the ritual according to Cain’s precise instructions, but nothing happened. And when Castiel said it was very likely that Dean was in a Devil’s Trap, Wade wanted to start shooting things. 

 

Next thing Wade knew, he was on the ground being pinned by Captain America, and Bruce was starting to look a little green. He was wrestling against the hands that held him, but getting no where. Then Castiel’s fingers touched his forehead, and he blacked out.

 

When he again woke, he was laying on a small cot in one of the cells underneath S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, and he felt absolutely worthless. He punched the concrete wall until both hands felt like beanbags, then paced the room until his hands were healed before starting over again. 

 

“Dean probably wasn’t even summoned,” the White Box said, making an appearance for the first time in a long time. “He probably just needed to get away from you.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” the Yellow Box shouted in his mind. “He likes us. He said so. We have a thing.”

 

“We’re probably just hallucinating again,” White said.

 

Wade’s punches grew more violent as the boxes started arguing back and forth. Punching until he felt the bones in his forearms splintered, until there was so much blood and skin on the wall, each thrust made a squishing sound. 

 

On his third round of punishing the cinder blocks, Wade heard someone shouting in the hall. A woman, with a very familiar voice. For a time, her voice was in his head, silencing the other two. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking locking him away like that!” Emily Preston shouted outside the door. 

 

“He was becoming unstable!” anonymous S.H.I.E.L.D. agent answered. 

 

“It’s Wade-fuckin-Wilson!” Preston shouted back. “Open this goddamn door!”

 

A moment later, the door buzzed, and Emily Preston walked in, in all her android-bodied glory. She took in the state of Wade’s hands and the gore on the wall, and just sighed. “Oh, Wade. Wade, what have you done to yourself?”

 

Wade kept his back to her. “Leave me alone, Preston.”

 

“I’ve left you alone for too long,” she said, stepping closer. Preston started to reach for him, but her hand faltered, knowing it might not be the best idea. Deadpool was unpredictable on his best day. And this was not his best day at all. 

 

His voice was hard as he growled, “Why are you here?”

 

“Because I heard that you were in a cell, and it pissed me off.” She put her hands on her hips. “You are gonna come with me. Whatever has happened, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

 

“I did it again, Preston,” he said, his voice weak. “Just like with you. Just like with everyone I’ve ever known. It’s my fault. If I’d never… I should have never even talked to him. Should have just left the house and he wouldn’t have known I existed. But the goddamn writers… They just want to hurt me, and they finally figured out how to do it best. They won’t just let me die, so they take away everything I love. Won’t. Stop. Taking.”

 

Preston was silent. She’d been in Wade’s head. Literally. Deadpool held her consciousness for months when her body was killed. She knew about the voices he heard, about his belief that it was all just a story. She was the only person who knew Wade Wilson’s mind, and at times that made her more sympathetic, and others, made her hate him. But this wasn’t a time for hate or judgement. 

 

“Who did they take?” she asked. 

 

“Dean,” he sighed. 

 

She nodded. “Do you know who took him?”

 

His jaw tensed. “I don’t know for certain, but I think it was Vetis.”

 

That made Preston’s eyes go wide. “You mean the sonofabitch that killed me?”

 

Wade nodded. 

 

“Deadpool--Wade…” She shook her head. “You are not staying in this cell one more minute. We’re getting out the big ones on this. Let’s go.”

 

She grabbed Wade’s upper arm, and tugged him along. When the guard outside started to say something, Preston pressed her fingers to the side of his head, and the guard dropped to the ground unconscious. 

 

“Whoa, Em. What happened to all that morality and shit you were yelling at my brain?” Wade said, with half a laugh.

 

“I’m not letting some snot nosed trainee get in the way of this,” she snapped, a deathly tone in her voice. “If this was Vetis, we’re going to make that bastard pay.” They reached the elevator, and as the door shut, she laughed. “I think you rubbed off on me a little bit, Wade. Cuz right now, I’m mad enough to kill.”

 

They reached the main floor, where the doors opened to Sam Winchester shouting in the face of none other than Phil Coulson. The hunter’s face was tinged red and his jaw tensed, as he demanded that Wade be released. 

 

Preston almost laughed. If Sam only knew that the mild-looking Coulson could kill him with his pinky finger, he might not be so bold. Then again, she didn’t know the Winchesters that well. She looked too Wade, who had the barest hint of a smile on his face.

 

“Mr. Winchester, please calm down,” Coulson said in his usual soft spoken manner. “We have no intention of keeping Deadpool locked up. We just needed to keep everyone safe.” Then Coulson’s eyes caught sight of Preston walking with Deadpool, and his jaw tightened ever so slightly, before he smiled, and said, “If you will look towards the elevator, you will see that…”

 

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish. He walked to Wade, and said, “You okay, man? I’ve been freaking out. Seriously, this whole place is full of assholes.”

 

“It’s New York, Sam,” Wade said as if that explained everything. “How long have I been out?”

 

“A few hours, but I’ve managed to make some headway.” Sam noticed Wade’s hands, and looked at Preston, a fresh wave of fury in his eyes. “What the hell were they doing to him!”

 

Wade held up a slowly healing hand, and said, “It’s okay, Sammy. She’s one of the good members of the establishment. I did this to myself.”

 

Sam frowned. “We’re going to find him, Wade. Xavier thinks he can use something called Cerebro to find his location because he sort of mapped his mind earlier today.”

 

Preston blurted, “Charles Xavier?” She looked at Wade, and asked, “What the hell have you been doing the last few months?”

 

He shrugged. “Making new friends.”

 

Sam continued, “But he needs us for some reason. Thinks we can somehow help narrow the search because of our connection.”

 

They left S.H.I.E.L.D. with Sam and Preston flanking Deadpool. Outside, the sun was going down, and Logan was waiting. They rushed back to Stark Towers, ignoring the guards who called to them, going straight to the cluster of small planes hid away on the roof. Natasha was in the process of stealing one of Tony’s ultra-sonic craft. It wasn’t a long flight to Xavier’s Institute, but every second mattered. 

 

Castiel was on board, and presented Wade with his weapons and a muttered, “I’m sorry,” with his big, sad eyes. 

 

Wade said nothing. He knew that the angel knocking him out was probably necessary at the time. But at the same time, he kinda wanted to slit his throat and throw him out of the plane. But he also knew that Dean would not like that, because Castiel was his angel. So he just took the bag of weapons and started filling his holsters and dug around in his pouch until he found a fresh pair of gloves to replace the ones he shredded by punching the wall. 

 

A short flight later, they were at the institute. And moments later, Wade, Sam, Castiel, and Logan were standing in the heart of Cerebro. It was the most amazing place that Sam had ever entered, and he felt a thrill of awe and terror at the idea of a machine made specifically to enhance the telepathic abilities of the professor. 

 

As Xavier donned the headpiece, and asked that Sam and Wade come closer to him. Suddenly the entire room filled with images and voices from thousands--millions of people. Sam’s jaw dropped, as he watched their faces swirl around. Then the professor focused on the energy of Angelic Vessels, and the number of people diminished substantially. Next he summoned up those that were touched by a demonic presence, and Sam was startled to see how many were actually surrounded by demons. 

 

“Focus on him,” Xavier said softly, his face tense. 

 

Sam closed his eyes, and thought about his brother. Remembering their moments in the Impala, the day he arrived at Stanford, hunting along side him, having a beer on a back road, fighting with him. The terror he felt watching Dean die, and joy and fear he felt when Dean came back from the dead.

 

Wade’s mind was filled with Dean. The first time he saw him naked in that abandoned house, his eyes black and the First Blade in his hand. Then walking in the desert when the car broke down, and sitting on Cain’s porch, sharing a laugh while Wade cleaned his weapons. The first time he kissed the hunter along side the road when Dean had thought the merc had died. Every fight they had, every time they fell asleep together. Waking up beside him that morning, singing to him the night before. 

 

He knew that Xavier could see all of the things he was thinking, but Wade couldn’t bring himself to care. And in the end, it was his memories of the demon he loved that made the professor zero in on Dean’s location. 

 

Xavier removed the headpiece, and said, “He’s in some sort of time bubble. He is close, but I fear he will break if we do not get to him soon.”


	24. Two Days Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Here there be torture. Aarrgh!

When Dean’s senses returned, he was hell and gone from Stark Towers. And for the second time in one week, he found himself in a devil’s trap. He heaved a heavy sigh, taking in the sight of candles and scent of burnt herbs, before his eyes finally landed on the person who summoned him.

 

“Vetis.” Dean’s hand gripped the First Blade tight, staring at the stain standing by the table. 

 

Vetis smiled. “You and I need to get on the same page, Dean. And our last meeting was a little hectic.” He spread his arms, and said, “I am Vetis, keeper of the Souls of Hell and High Lord of Madness.”

 

“And I’m the motherfucker who’s going to cut your goddamn head off,” Dean growled, his eyes blacker than night. 

 

“I don’t think so, Dean.” Vetis stepped up to the edge of the trap. “See, I’m a Lord of Hell. You are just a Knight. If you reviewed your feudal history, you would know that Knights serve Lords. You will serve me, Dean.”

 

Dean’s jaw was so tight, it actually ached. “Not happening.”

 

“You sound confident.” Vetis smiled like a used car salesman. He looked like a used car salesman. He slowly started to circle around the trap, eyeing Dean like a cat circling a mouse. Then he snapped his fingers, and Dean crumpled to the ground, blood gushing out of his nose, mouth, and eyes. 

 

Vetis stood over him, looking down his pointed nose. “You are trapped, Dean. And I am immortal. I can do this for centuries. I can torment you in ways that Alistair never dreamed of.” He knelt down, tilting his head to look Dean in the eyes. “I invented Hell’s torture, Dean. I am the architect of all torment. I can do things to you that will make you long for something as sweet and gentle as the Rack.”

 

The hunter gritted his teeth, and spat thick black blood in Vetis’ face, and hissed, “Fuck you.”

 

“So much spirit.” Vetis’ smile widened. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

 

Time passed at a snail’s pace. Every moment was bone shattering agony. Where for months, Dean couldn’t feel anything, Vetis reintroduced each and every nerve of his body to pain. And he did it in such a way that there was never a rest. There was never a moment of reprieve. There was just the constant, sharp, consistent pain.

 

At first, Dean held his ground. He was defiant. But as the days--weeks? months?--wore on, Dean’s resolve started to falter. He screamed until there was no voice left. He cried until his body was dehydrated from the effort. He was broken and bloodied, and always somehow reformed. Unlike Alistaire, there was no offer from Vetis at the end of each day. There was no option to end the pain. There was just more and more pain to be given. 

 

There were moments, here and there, where Dean’s mind would separate from his tormented meatsuit, and he would find himself somewhere else. Some place safe and comforting. The bunker’s library, sitting on the couch with Wade and Cas, having a beer and watching anime. Or he would be driving the Impala across the long straight stretch of Kansas, engine roaring and radio blaring. Happy moments. 

 

But then he would snap back to reality. To that dank, dark cellar that smelled of his blood and sweat, where the only sound was his anguished cries. 

 

Even though demon prayers aren’t heard by angels, Dean prayed that someone, anyone would find him. It was desperate. It felt pointless. In all truth, part of Dean felt that he deserved this torment. He was the one who failed, who spilled blood in Hell. He was the one who took the Mark of Cain. No one ever forced his hand. At the end of the day, every decision was his to make, and every time, he chose the pathway to damnation.

 

“Look at you,” Vetis said, pulling Dean back into the present. 

 

Dean was on the floor, moaning with his back twisted and mangled. The bones of his legs were shattered, and there were ribs sticking out of his chest, a ghastly sucking sound coming from the wound. 

 

Vetis stood at the edge of the trap, smiling with his over-bleached teeth shining in the candle light. “Where’s the passion, Dean? Where’s the vigor? Where’s the, ‘Fuck you’?” He laughed like he was chatting with someone at the water cooler. “You were so much fun when we first started. Now, I just don’t know.”

 

The only thing Dean could manage was a gagging noise as thick blood bubbled out of his mouth. 

 

Vetis knelt down, cocking his head to look into Dean’s black and bleeding eyes. “You’re all alone, kid. And I haven’t even started to get into my repertoire.” He smirked, and said, “Now, how about I heal you up so we can start again? Okay?”

 

Fresh tears fell from Dean’s eyes, mixing with the blood. All he wanted was to die, but instead his body knitted back together with a crackling sound that hurt almost as bad as the torture that brought him to that point. It wasn’t a complete heal, just enough that his body would still be enjoyable to break again.

 

The demon stood and held out his hands, black shimmering swirls of his power encircling his arms. Dean couldn’t even brace for the pain that he knew was coming. He laid in the trap, eyes staring up at the ceiling and wishing desperately that it would just end…

 

But the pain never came. 

 

Gunfire. Shouting. Voices. So many voices. 

 

And then there was Wade. He knelt down beside him, pulling his mask away. The sight of his scarred face was the most beautiful thing Dean could ever imagine. And his eyes filled with tears, because he knew it couldn’t possibly be real. It was a hallucination. There was no way…

 

“I’m here, Chester,” Wade cupped his cheek gently, and whispered, “I got you.”

 

It took him a minute to realize the trap was broken, but by then he was being lifted onto a stretcher. 

 

After that, time seemed to fly by. Every blink, he was somewhere else. Outside in a starry night beside an old barn. Inside the Blackbird, hearing Logan talking in the distance, with Castiel sitting on one side of him and Sam on the other. Then there were doctors and nurses and beeping machines. Then everything went blessedly black.

 

When next he woke, there was a faint light outside, and Dean couldn’t tell if it was morning or evening. His body was no longer hurting, and there were bags of fluids being funneled into his veins. 

 

Then he noticed the form beside him, and for a moment he tensed. But his eyes adjusted, and he could see the red suit and scarred hands. 

 

Voice weak, he said, “Wade?”

 

The merc was immediately alert, his face spread in a grin as he carefully took Dean’s hand, and said, “Hey there, sleeping beauty.”

 

A corner of Dean’s mouth lifted in a pained smile. “Hey.”

 

The merc let out a relieved sound, and said, “You look like shit.”

 

Dean laughed, gripping Wade’s hand tighter. “I feel like shit.”

 

“Thirsty?” Wade asked, reaching for the tumbler on the bedside table. He guided the straw to Dean’s lips, gently lifting the hunter’s head so he could drink. He finished most of the jug before he started coughing, and spat up a miserable mix of water and old blood. Wade grabbed a moist cloth.

 

“You wouldn’t know it, but Cas did his angle mojo thing on you. Well, as best he could,” Wade said as he dabbed the mess away. “That little dude was how we got to you, too. Drained him down. They got him in one of the other medical units.”

 

“Sam?” Dean managed to croak out.

 

“Preston--you haven’t met her--took him home for the night,” Wade answered. “Kid hasn’t slept since you disappeared.”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been gone… It was weeks…”

 

Wade held his hand, and nodded. “I’m sure it was forever for you. You were in some kind of time loop bubble thingy.”

 

“How long?” Dean asked, feeling his eyes sting. 

 

“Two days,” Wade answered. 

 

There was a cold, frightening feeling that settled inside of Dean. His jaw tensed, knowing that Wade was telling the truth. Vetis had created his own little pocket of Hell, complete with the time distortion. Two days on Earth felt like an eternity.

 

The hunter’s jaw tensed, and he did his best not to let his voice shake as he asked, “Vetis?”

 

“Dead,” Wade answered. “Not back in Hell. Dead. For good. Wish I could say I was the one who killed him. It was Sammy who put the whammy on him with Castiel’s angel blade. Kid burned him down good.” 

 

Dean wished he felt better hearing that. Instead, he only felt the burn of the Mark and the empty feeling of seeing history repeat itself. Sam had taken out Alistair, fulfilling Dean’s wish for vengeance. And like then, Dean only felt hollow instead of vindicated. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened as the loneliness and loathing started to fill the vacant spaces. 

 

Then he felt Wade’s arms wrapping around him, pulling him against the merc’s chest. At first he resented the touch, not wanting to be comforted for his failings. The tears came then as he feebly pushed against the warmth, until finally he gave up the struggle and just cried silently as Wade held him, and softly sang, “Hey, Jude”. 

 

Dean’s heart clenched, listening to the words that always calmed him as a child. He held on to Wade, clinging to his voice and the feel of his breath against his forehead. He sank into the vibration of sound in the merc’s chest, and slowly, the tears subsided. By the time the song was finished, Dean was back asleep.


	25. Aftermath

The days following were difficult. It was too much like after Hell. Every dream was a nightmare. No rest for the wicked, Dean thought to himself. He stayed awake for days, pushing his damaged body to its limits before passing out and screaming himself awake. Food had no taste. There was no satisfaction in drinking. And there was nothing but a cold feeling in his chest.

 

Most of all, he hated the looks people gave him. The sort of sad, pitiful eyes that made Dean want to punch everyone. Sam was the worst. He wanted to talk, wanted Dean to pour out his soul or something, and the only thing Dean wanted was to be left alone.

 

Then there was Castiel, who had burned up his Grace to save him. The more the angel insisted it was his choice, the more Dean hated himself. If he wasn't so weak and useless, this wouldn't have happened. If he was better, his friends wouldn't have to sacrifice themselves to save him over and over.

 

There were others who came by, too. Logan invited him out for a beer once the doctors decided he was rehydrated enough. Natasha and Bucky stopped in to tell him they retrieved the Impala from Kansas, which managed to make Dean smile, though he couldn't figure out why they would. All the kindness made him uneasy, made him feel like he owed them all something.

 

Wade, on the other hand, acted like nothing had changed. He showed up in the room with sacks of food, belched loudly when the doctor came by, and made elaborate plans to break Dean out if they didn't discharge him by the end of the third day. One of the best involved chopsticks, some dental floss, and a stuffed Buffalo head. Despite everything, Dean laughed.

 

None of those plans were necessary. In fact, the staff seemed very eager to get him out of S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical. Probably because of Wade always asking for sponges. Either way, Dean was glad to depart. He dressed in the clothes Wade brought him, put on his S.H.I.E.L.D. issued boots, and was about to leave when Tony Stark appeared at the door. He had a black eye and split lip, and generally looked like he didn't want to be there.

 

For a moment, the billionaire just stared at Dean, a scrutinizing look that made Dean’s blood boil. Tony flickered a smile, crossing his arms and looking around the room. "God, I hate being in medical. Too confining. And annoying."

 

Dean just stared at him. “Is there something I can help you with, Stark?”

 

"Right. So..." Tony steepled his fingers under his scruffy chin. "I really like your brother. Smart. Super smart. I want to keep him. Everyone wants to keep him. But I really, really want Sam.” He paused a moment, giving Dean his best beggar's eyes, and asked, “Can I keep him?"

 

"Shouldn't you be talking to Sam?" Dean said, his brow scrunched.

 

"I did, actually." Tony rubbed his jaw, a bubble of nervous laughter popping out of him. "He wasn't very receptive, you could say. Maybe it was my approach. I'm not good. With people. Like, at all. He’s...He’s very sensitive. About you, particularly. And strangely, about Deadpool...”

 

"He give you the black eye?" Dean asked with a smirk.

 

Tony shrugged. "I wouldn't call it a gift. But, yes. Yes he did. And I don't really care, because I still want to keep him. And the angel." He winced, adding, "Even if it means keeping you too. Which, don't get me wrong, you're great. I read the mission briefs and all. But you seem to be a package deal, you know?"

 

Dean understood. "You don't want Wade around."

 

"He's a problem," Tony said flatly. "He's been a problem for so long I don't remember what it's like to not have a Deadpool shaped thorn in my side.

 

"To be honest, I'm not interested in being part of your little boy band,” Dean all but growled.

 

Tony frowned. "Okay… Um… What about your brother? Any chance you could talk some sense into him? I mean, I’m offering him a hell of a benefits package. And I’ll treat him right. No coffee fetching or robot cleaning. Nothing but good food in his dish.”

 

Dean squared his shoulders. “Did you just ask for another black eye? My brother’s not a goddamn dog.”

 

“Bad with people? That’s me. Remember that,” Tony said, backing up a step.

 

“It’s kind of obvious,” Dean said with a heavy sigh. “Look, dude. I don’t know you. I don’t give a fuck if you are some kind of genius billionaire...”

 

“I am.”

 

Dean glared, and continued, “But the decision is Sammy’s. I’m not going to tell him to do a damn thing. Fact is, the kid probably should take the job with you. And you’re not the first person to tell me I’m holding him back, but thanks for the reminder, douche bag.”

 

“It’s not you, Dean,” Tony said by way of apology. “It’s Deadpool. Deadpool is a problem.”

 

“You said. I heard. Fuck you.” Dean put his bag on his shoulder, taking a step into Tony’s personal space, his eyes flickering black. “Fact is, Wade is my friend. He’s family to me. And that may not mean dick to you, but it means something to me. So fuck you, Stark.”

 

Dean pushed past the billionaire, and found Wade waiting out in the hall, wearing jeans and a hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled low, hiding most of his face, but he couldn’t hide the sort of stunned way his mouth hung open. He took Dean’s bag of personal items, and left without a word--though he had the presence of mind to give Tony the finger as they walked away.

 

In the elevator, both were silent as they descended, Wade surreptitiously glancing at the hunter, a small smile on his face. There was a cab waiting for them out front that drove them to Wade’s warehouse. Dean propped his arm against the window, resting his chin on his hand. As they drove through the city, going towards Queens at a snail’s pace in the rush hour traffic, Dean wished they were anywhere but New York. He felt confined in a way that had nothing to do with being in the car. He needed the open road. He needed an interstate and bad diner food. He needed clean air.

 

As if reading his mind, Wade said, “I figure we can head out whenever you want. Got Baby at the warehouse, all gassed up and polished to a shine.”

 

“Why’d they bring her here?” Dean asked. He’d wondered since Natasha told him about it.

 

“I asked them to,” Wade answered.

 

Dean’s brow scrunched. “And she just did it out of the goodness of her heart?”

 

“Nah. I had to trade her one of my favorite swords, but it was worth it.” Wade smiled. “I knew you’d want to get some road therapy after all this shit.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He just stared for a minute, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Part of him wanted to say something really corny and sappy about how amazing it is to have a friend like Wade, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Wade just kept smiling.

 

When they arrived at the Warehouse, Dean saw another car parked in a line with Baby. A skinny man with round glasses appeared out from where he was polishing the chrome on Baby’s wheels. He had a smudge of grease on his cheek, and looked for all the world like some kind of ferret.

 

“Hey, Weas!” Wade said with a big grin.

 

“Hey, Pool,” the man said as he approached. He smiled at Dean, and said, “You must be Chester?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Or Dean. Whatever.”

 

“Jack, but uh, Deadpool calls me Weasel.” He shrugged. “So, whatever.”

 

“Weasel is my weapons guy. He’s the genius who built my teleporter,” Wade said with almost fatherly pride, though Jack looked to be in his later 40’s. “Uh, is Al here?”

 

“Yes. I brought the old crab with me,” he said with a hint of fondness. "I don’t… She’s mean.”

 

Wade shrugged. “It happens. You about finished here?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah. Just about.”

 

“Awesome. Get inside,” Wade ordered.

 

The three men walked to the door of the office section, and Dean was amazed to see that the place had been cleaned up. All the trash was gone from the floor. There were new coverlets on the makeshift couch and chairs. The ammo box table was topped with a tablecloth, and spread with a variety of foods, including a pizza, tacos, and a couple boxes of chinese.

 

Sitting in the living room was an old lady wearing blackout sunglasses and holding a cane. She stood up, scowling in the direction of the door, as she said, “Didn’t you ever learn not to stop around like a damned gorilla?”

 

Wade grinned wider than Dean had ever seen as he walked over to the woman, and said, “Good to see you’re still just as bitchy as ever.”

 

“You bring it out in me, you overgrown zit,” she grumbled, before throwing her arms around him. Wade lifted her up in the air, giving her a squeeze before putting her back on the ground. She sniffled, cleared her throat, and said, “I know I heard someone else in here, and judging by the scent, it’s not Weasel.”

 

Wade motioned Dean over, and said, “Al, this is Chester. Chester, this is Blind Al.”

 

Dean took her hand, giving it a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

 

She cocked an eyebrow, and said, “You don’t have to kiss my ass, boy. He ain’t my kid or nothin’.”

 

Dean laughed. “Uh… Okay?”

 

“You two must be made for each other,” Al said with a groan. “Put your brains together, and you might have half a functional adult.”

 

“She’s actually being nice, compared to the ride here,” Weasel said with a nervous laugh.

 

Al’s mouth pinched and she planted a slender hand on her hip. “It’s not my fault you drive like a drunk nun at Burning Man. Let’s eat.”

 

The four of them ate, with Al telling as many embarrassing stories as she could between bites. Wade made several attempts to poke her with his chopsticks, but Blind Al was a ninja and flicked him in the middle of the forehead with a dumpling. Weasel couldn’t stop talking about the Impala and all the things he could do with it to make it even better. Dean just smiled and declined the offer. She’s a classic, not to be tampered with. He did, however, offer him the Imposter Impala to do whatever he wanted.

 

By the end of dinner, Dean was a little more relaxed. The easy banter, the small food fights, and car talk was something he could handle. There was no pitiful stares, no awkward looks. And after a couple hours of talking and an hour of Matlock, Al and Weasel got up to leave.

 

Wade and Dean walked with them to the warehouse floor, and Wade promised he would visit next time he was in New York.

 

Al just shrugged. “Just keep the pension checks comin’, and you can visit any time you want.”

 

“Yeah, go choke on your teeth,” Wade said with a laugh and wave, smiling fondly as the car drove out of the warehouse.

 

Dean found that he was smiling too, even as he asked, “What was that all about?”

 

“I called in a favor,” Wade said, handing Dean a small device.

 

Dean looked the thing over. It was a metal circle, wrapped with a durable rubber strip, with tiny etching on the surface. “Uh, thanks. But what is it?”

 

“It’s a multi-dimensional tracking thing-a-ma-jigger,” Wade said with a smile. He shrugged. “It has a signal that I can track with my teleport control. No matter where you are in Space-Time, that little thing will send a signal to me, so I’ll always know where you are.” Wade raised his hands. “Not that I’m going to just track your every movement or anything, but…” His face sobered, and his voice pinched a little as he softly said, “I, uh...I lost you once. I don’t really want to do it again, okay?”

 

Dean wrapped his fingers around the small device and nodded. “Thanks.”

 

Wade took a deep breath, and cleared his throat, before asking, “So, you ready to get on the road, Chester?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

 

“I’ll go grab the bags,” Wade said, backing towards the door.

 

While Wade was inside, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam’s number. He answered on the first ring, angry and worried because he went by Medical and Dean wasn’t there.

 

“I left this afternoon,” Dean explained. “Sorry I didn’t call you, I just… I needed to be alone.”

 

“With Wade.” He didn’t say it like a tease. He sounded genuinely pissed. “Why do you always push me away? I’m your brother!”

 

“It’s not about you, Sam,” Dean practically shouted. “This is not about you, okay? This has nothing to do with brothers or family or whatever the fuck. Right now, I need to be away, okay? I’m leaving. Tonight. Heading back to the bunker. After that, I don’t know. Might not even make it there.”

 

Sam was silent, before saying, “Tony Stark offered me a job as a consultant for the Avengers. I wasn’t going to take it, but…”

 

“Do it,” Dean said, completely encouraging. “You should take the job. You shouldn’t pass it up.”

 

“But, Dean, I--”

 

Dean took a deep breath, and said, “Look, man. We’ve been together our whole lives. Literally. Maybe it’s time we do our own things for a while. You deserve to have your chance at the life you wanted. You deserve to do something big and important that doesn’t have to do with demons and angels and bullshit. And they need you.”

 

Sam was quiet for a moment. “What if you get taken again?”

 

Dean looked at the little device in his palm, and said, “I got that covered too.”

 

"You sure?"

 

Dean heard Wade open the door of the Impala, singing, "All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door..."

 

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "I'm sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end, my friends. Just have to put some final touches on the last couple chapters, which should be up in a day or so. 
> 
> And I may have already started the sequel to this story, because the plot bunnies were eating my brain. :)


	26. Back on the Road

The miles flew by to the sound of Led Zepplin, Wade’s sometimes off key singing, a little air guitar, and elaborate games of eye spy that lasted until the sun was coming up again and they were on the other side of Pennsylvania. By then, Wade was staring longingly at the blue signs that indicated Food and pointing at his belly making growly noises. 

 

So they stopped at a greasy spoon, ordered an abundance of food, and got a few funny stares when Wade insisted on feeding Dean a few bites of everything he ordered, especially his banana, strawberry, chocolate chip pancakes topped with blueberry sauce and whipped cream. Even the waitress had trouble reading his order back on that one, and Dean just smiled. 

 

It felt like forever ago when Deadpool suddenly showed up in the hunter’s life, and for the life of him, Dean couldn’t remember why he found the guy so annoying. He was just as belligerent, loud, and mouthy. The random singing and flirting--none of it bothered Dean now. In fact, he looked forward to hearing what the guy would say next. 

 

He was comfortable around Wade. And it was obvious that the merc was comfortable around Dean. When they first started traveling together, he always wore his red and black costume, or at least had the mask in place. But now in this little diner, with strangers surrounding them drinking coffee and rattling newspapers, Wade was dressed in casual clothes, with the hood of his shirt down, with only a black ball cap to hide his features. If people stared at him, he didn’t seem to notice or care. He only had eyes for Dean. 

 

Wade was practically dying to pick up where they stopped, but all he did was eat his pancakes and talk about the squirrels that were running around the parking lot. Though he didn’t really want to, he was keeping his distance a little from the hunter. For Dean, it had been a long, agonizing time since those couple days of excessive sexual tension. And though Wade had spent every minute with him, only leaving Medical to grab something out of the vending machines or harass the nosey agents in the hall, he hadn’t made any attempts to touch the hunter, outside of poking his arm or nudging him as they walked. Or that one time when he first woke up and completely broke down. 

 

The merc was many things, but not pushy. Okay, not pushy when it really mattered. He would wait for Dean to come back around, even if it meant that he never did. Though that thought made his smile falter a little, Wade accepted that possibility. Right now, Dean needed a friend, and maybe he wasn’t the best friend anyone could ask for, he could do the job. Judging by Dean’s easy laughter, he was doing alright.

 

After breakfast, they made a little jaunt on a back road to get to Interstate 70, which would take them all the way to Kansas. They would go through St. Louis and Kansas City, then take a little jog north to make it to Lebanon.

 

They made it to the other side of Indianapolis before Dean decided it was time to find a hotel and crash for the night. He’d been going a solid 24-hours, and his eyes were grainy and body tight from driving so long. Though Dean offered, Wade didn’t want to drive. Driving involved focusing on the road and avoiding cars. And focusing was just not something he was good at. Ever. So they found an Econolodge, got a room with two queen beds, and moved in for the night. 

 

The first order of business was taking a shower. Despite how sexy people seemed to think a hospital sponge bath was, it really wasn’t. The sponges were rough and cold, the nurses were impersonal, and it wasn’t very cleansing. Dean was ready to get cleaned up, have a shave, and get between semi-clean sheets. 

 

Wade plopped onto the bed closest to the window and started flipping channels. It was Saturday, which meant somewhere out there, Robot Chicken and Anime were waiting to be enjoyed. So Dean took his time in the shower, scrubbing his hair and stubbled face, letting his nose fill with the scent of motel soap and steam. When he stepped out of the bathroom to the main room, Wade had stripped down to his boxers and had a bundle of clothes under his arm.

 

While the merc showered, Dean started to shave. He never really liked being scruffy; it made his face itch. He lathered on a good layer of shaving cream and started slowly removing the growth, listening to Wade sing a medley of Patsy Cline (“Walking After Midnight” that morphed into “Crazy”) that eventually switched to “In the Ghetto”.

 

Dean laughed, and his hand slipped, and dark blood bloomed out of the cut on his cheek. 

 

Suddenly, Dean couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking so much he dropped the razor. His vision went blurry, and in his mind he was being sucked back into that bubble of Hell. He could smell the incense and blood, mixed with Vetis’ fetid breath. His whole body shook, and he felt bile rising in his throat. 

 

Then his nose was filled with the scent of cinnamon and mint. Big, strong hands rubbed circles against his jaw. A deep, soft voice saying, “Come back, Chester. You’re not there. You’re here. I got you. I got you.”

 

Dean blinked, his eyes finally focusing on the merc’s face. 

 

“There you are,” Wade said with a flicker of a smile. The merc’s chest was smeared with slowly drying soap, water beaded in the ripples and divots of his scarred skin. Dean took a deep breath, and felt like everything was falling apart. Couldn’t see his own blood without spiraling out. Just like when he was a kid after his first hunt. John had been hurt, not badly, but it could have been bad. Dean woke in a nightmare, screaming and crying, and John slapped his face. Told him to man up, but he couldn’t. Not immediately. So he lay on the floor with blood coming out of his nose, hugging himself because there was no one else to do it for him.

 

“Your dad was a dick,” Wade said as he dabbed the shaving cream away from Dean’s face, and Dean realized that he’d been speaking his thoughts out loud. “You were a kid. And despite this whole demon thing you’ve got going? You’re still human.”

 

Dean looked at Wade, at the serious expression he wore as he cleaned the cut on Dean’s cheek. Once upon a time, Dean would have shouted about John Winchester being a good man and doing what he had to do. But not now. Sam always saw through the shouting, saw the hurt and need that made Dean repeat it over and over, as if repetition would make John a good father. Dean took the beatings, took the shouting, took the nightmares, because he thought that’s what it meant to be a good son. 

 

John Winchester would probably be ashamed of Dean now. A demon, crying in a hotel with a naked mercenary cleaning his boo-boos. But considering the only time the guy ever said he was proud of him was while possessed by Azazel, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. 

 

“You shouldn’t care,” Wade said, answering Dean’s not so inner monologue. The merc smiled, and added, “I’ll clean your boo-boos any time you need me too. But only special occasions will I do it naked.”

 

Dean’s face turned a little pink. 

 

“You okay?” Wade asked softly. 

 

Dean nodded. “Go finish your shower.”

 

Wade went back in the bathroom, but left the door open, and finished in less than a minute. Dean had just enough time to pull on a t-shirt and sit down. Then he and the merc sat on Wade’s bed with all the pillows from both beds and ate junk food they’d picked up at a gas station earlier, falling asleep sometime after 2am on top of the covers with wrappers and empty cans littering the space around them.

 

At some point in the night, they migrated under the blankets. Dean snuggled up against the merc, shamelessly enjoying the feeling of strong muscles enveloping him. If there were nightmares, he didn’t remember. The only thing Dean remembered was feeling safe, falling asleep with the teleportation tracker in his hand. 

 

They slept late the next morning, waking to the sound of the housekeeper pounding on the door. Dean got up with a groan, stepping around the crunched pop cans, and opened the door. 

 

“It’s past noon,” the housekeeper grumbled. “And yours is the last room.”

 

Dean nodded. “We’ll be outta here in a few minutes.”

 

“Honey!” Wade groaned from under the covers. “Come back to bed!”

 

The housekeeper gave Dean a knowing look, and said, “You have 30 minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’m charging your card.”

 

“We’ll be out in five,” Dean said, starting to close the door, as Wade shouted, “Ooooh! Quickie!”

 

Ten minutes later, they were in the Impala. It would have been five minutes, but Wade was taking his sweet time and doing his best to keep Dean from putting on pants. First, stealing Dean’s bag. Then unzipping them like a ninja every time he walked past. Finally, Dean went into the bathroom and locked the door to finish dressing. 

 

The rest of the ride home was easy going. They managed to miss rush hour in both St. Louis and Kansas City, and when Dean hit the Kansas flats, he opened up the engine and let Baby run. Wade lounged back with his arm draped across the seat, smiling into the warm wind that whipped through the windows. Dean kept looking at him, and every time their eyes accidentally met, they both laughed like a couple of dumb kids with a crush.

 

They got back to the bunker after midnight, rolling into the garage and lingering for a moment in the car because suddenly they both remembered that they liked to kiss each other. 

 

Without words, they agreed that the Impala could be unpacked in the morning, and they raced to the door, pausing only to again kiss and touch. Despite only being about a week, Wade felt like it had been forever since he’d tasted the hunter’s lips. And for Dean, it had been a damn long time. Part of him was nervous, because this was strange new territory, but those nerves were lost in the fog of sensation as Wade pinned him to the wall of the garage and trailed hot kisses down the hunter’s neck, nipping and licking at the juncture of his shoulder.

 

Dean couldn’t help smiling, because here there would be no interruptions. There would be no alarm clocks or brothers or missions or annoying asshole archers to interrupt them. It was just him and Wade, and… and…?

 

“Munchkins?” Dean gasped, his eyes finding a short person in a gumdrop hat standing on the opposite side of the catwalk.

 

Wade looked at him, confused until he followed Dean’s line of sight and straightened up as another person in a pointed green hat appeared out of a door that he didn’t remember seeing before. Then a skinny girl with short cropped ginger hair came out of the door along with a dark haired woman in a bomber jacket. The two human sized women were holding hands as they strolled out of the emerald world beyond. 

 

The ginger’s eyes got big and a wide grin spread her face as she squealed, “Dean!”

 

“Charlie?” Dean said, as she latched onto him. He looked at Wade, who was laughing. 

 

Interruptions just seemed to be a part of life.

 

The End. For Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this segment. I hope you enjoyed it, and will come back to read the sequel, which I've dubbed, "Charlie and the Demon Factory". That might change. But it sounded good. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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